Piers' Lament
by Emil Lime
Summary: I could hardly think when I saw him, hardly process anything. The man before me stole all of my attention. His short dark brown hair, his deep brown eyes and those muscles...I couldn't stop watching him. I'd never felt like this before, not for anyone. For the first time in my life, I knew what true love was, what that 'head over heels' felt like-and I hated it.
1. The Recruitment

So, this little story is my take on how Chris and Piers first met (told from Piers' pov). It is a _yaoi_ take on it, so if you don't ship these two (don't know why you don't, but whatever) turn back because you won't enjoy the story. I rated it T because there isn't anything explicit or overtly sexual, though there are a lot of dirty thoughts. If people read this and think it should be upped in the rating, I'll change that but, for now, I'll leave it at T. It is a one-shot but, if I get enough people interested in it continuing, I might turn it into a chapter fic. Time will only tell. Anyway, read, enjoy and review!

-Emil Lime

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I could hardly think when I saw him, hardly process anything the director was saying to me-crap that was probably pretty important in hindsight but, well, I missed it all. The man before me stole all of my attention. His short dark brown hair, his deep brown eyes and those muscles-_damn_, those _muscles_-god, those _arms_ were captivating. I couldn't stop watching them. He'd gesture and, _god_, I could have fainted from awe. The way his lips moved too. Those thin yet delicate lips that were just begging me to kiss them. I felt like a freaking high schooler, staring at him and practically drooling over his perfectly sculpted body. Mentally, I began imagining what it would be like to wake up next to him, to let my fingertips trace his abs after a good roll in the hay, to gently trail hot kisses down his chiseled body before they made it to their destination-oh _god_, I couldn't concentrate.

I'd never felt like this before-and I mean for anyone. Not that jock back in high school or that lab partner in college. Hell, not even for that one army guy who I was obsessing over last week, that one with the girlfriend. No, none of those men even came close.

For the first time in my life, I knew what true love was, what that 'head over heels' felt like-and I hated it.

I'm a _guy_ for Christ's sake! I shouldn't be falling for another man! That's insane! It was back in middle school that I noticed I had this terrible tendency to stare at the other guy's asses and, regardless of every preventative measure I took, I _still_ fucking did it. Even now as a 23 year old bachelor, I couldn't keep my eyes from wandering up and down every toned and tanned half naked man-body in the workout room. I even tried-and I mean _tried_-to check out the very fit and beautiful ladies the military had to offer but I would quickly get bored and find my vision wobbling back over to some handsome man with a _very_ handsome chest.

How I managed to fall into the graces of such a lovely creature as the man before me, I have no idea. But he was talking to me, those wonderful, kissable lips moving up and down. I watched as they twisted into a smile, sucking every last pinch of oxygen from my lung. How on earth could anyone be so fucking gorgeous!?

That's when my name entered the conversation and the growing 'interest' between my legs was the least of my concerns, "Uh, yes. I'm Piers Nivans. Nice to meet you."

The god before me gave me another captivating smile and my heart probably stopped beating at that point. "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Nivans."

And if my heart hadn't stopped beating from his smile, it surely had from his voice. That deep gruffness that sounded coated in dark chocolate, the way that delicious voice spoke my name. It was almost enough to make me blush, but I contained myself. _Barely_. His voice smoothed over my eardrums again and it took every ounce of my military trained attention to listen to him without fantasizing about that voice moaning my name, "I happened to be watching your team during the drilling earlier, since some of them have slated themselves for review by the BSAA. Your team performed very well, but I was particularly interested in you."

Heat rushed to two distinct areas, one being my face and the other being unmentionable. My stupid brain conjured up all kinds of fantasy ideas about what in specific he was interested in and suddenly I became very self-conscious. How exactly did I look during the drill? Had my hair been a mess? Was my uniform wrinkled? Things of extreme unimportance became the world to me and, right then, I had a horrific thought.

How did I look right now? No doubt my cheeks were flushed because of the intense heat under my uniform as well as the heat in the locker room. And no doubt I smelled like sweat, I mean, the shit was pouring off of me. And I probably looked roughed up-_hardly_ romantic-because of the dirt and grime I had to crawl through during the middle part of that mock mission. Shit, I probably looked _repulsive_.

A blush threatened to overtake my face again but I swallowed it down. There was _no way_ I was making myself look worse.

I looked into those brown eyes, being taken in by the, and then I realized they looked to be expecting something. Then I realized he was looking for some kind of indication I was listening. Fuck. "Uh, me, sir?" I didn't have a clue what this guy's name was-even though he probably introduced himself to me-but I was already falling in love with him. I hated myself even more at that point.

He gave this warm and all-knowing smirk and I absently wondered if he was used to being marveled, and he was just ignoring my stares. I mean, after all, he was flawless. Who _wouldn't_ want to look at him? "Your skills with a sniper are par none. I've never seen someone as talented as you, and I've been to hundreds of recruitment days. You didn't miss a single target, and the leadership skills you showed during that run were astounding. The director here says you're what, 23? I can hardly believe there's a 23 year old with such authority and skill."

I couldn't keep from blushing at that. I'd never so much as gotten an 'good job' from my superiors and suddenly this very attractive-and totally straight, he _has_ to be straight-guy was showering me with praise. "Well, thank you, sir. But I'm only doing what I have to to keep the team safe."

That's when the director spoke up, "He's the youngest in this team but he out-works even some of the highest ranking ones. Nivans is a good solider and a good man, captain Redfield."

This god had a name after all. Captain Redfield. I ducked my eyes away, looking at the ground as the beautiful man before me spoke again. "I'm impressed beyond words by your skills, which is why I'm personally meeting with you."

An odd mixture of pride and lust rushed through my veins. In some ways, I was special in getting to meet captain Redfield _in person_ on a recruitment day-as the recruiters usually have pretty tight schedules so they don't hang around after viewing all of the people up for review. Though, the fact that he wanted to meet me personally brought up a good question-and first clean thought-to my mind, "Why would you want to personally meet with me, sir?"

I reminded myself that it was definitely, totally, not because he was also _very_ into me and that he wanted to take me out back and show me a _real_ drill, that he wanted to force me front side forward against the hot steel siding of the military base to pound our together in a wonderful, consuming rhythm that would send me over the edge again and again, leaving me as nothing more than a puddle at his feet. That was _not_ the case and I knew I needed to stop thinking like it was.

"Well, Mr. Nivans, I wanted to personally invite you for a job interview with the BSAA. I know you didn't sign up for a review or recruitment opportunities, but after seeing you in action, I knew I'd be crazy not to ask."

A personal request for an interview…for the BSAA? I'd never even heard of the group, but obviously they were important, especially since the military held recruitment days for them. And the fact the military director was pulling me aside to speak with captain Redfield? Another dead giveaway. I tried not to let it all go to my head-or _other_ parts of my body.

Captain Redfield's luscious lips curved yet again into a smile, "So, are you interested in being interviewed, Mr. Nivans? The BSAA is looking for soldiers like you, ones that are dedicated, skilled and natural leaders. I have no doubt that you would be hired as my second-in-command should you choose to accept the interview."

"S-Second?" I stammered, nearly chocking on my own astonishment. I was really that good? I knew there had to be some kind of mistake. Even perfect men like captain Redfield made mistakes, right?

"That's right. You have the makings of a captain. That's why I want you under me."

And that's when my stupid brain forgot about the position being proposed and instead started drawing me pictures of the possible meanings of the phrase, 'I want you under me'. Each picture was more tempting then the last, making me crave a quick dismissal so I could take care of the need growing inside of me. The showers would be open at this point, _right_? All of the men had gone to the cafeteria for lunch, _right_? I'd be alone, just me and my imaginary captain Redfield…_Fuck_, I was horny and feeling desperate. It was the first time in my life I was happy the military uniforms were so thick and well insulated. At least no one outside of my mind could observe my inner turmoil.

"So, what do you say? Would you like an interview with the BSAA?"

I glanced at the director, the man nodding in approval. I gave a small, curt nod then as well, looking into captain Redfield's deep, chocolate-_god_, I wished he'd throw me down and drizzle chocolate over me, only then to sensually lick it off-eyes, "It would be a great honor, sir."

That lovely smile played across his lips once more, hitching my breath and melting my heart, "Thank you, Mr. Nivans. The BSAA and I thank you."

"You can call me Piers." It slipped out before I could even stop myself, the thought of captain Redfield speaking my name being ever present in my mind but doing nothing to curb my growing hunger. And that smile that crossed his face didn't help that hunger, either.

"Alright then. I thank you, Piers."

Everything inside of me was on fire and I found my entire body aching for his touch-for someone's touch. I'd never _needed_ something so badly. I'd never been so easily consumed by another man who hadn't so much as _touched_ me yet. Hell, he was even fully clothed, a suit and tie! And yet, he'd managed to steal away my heart and, most likely, he wasn't even aware of it. That's just how men are. Oblivious. _Really _oblivious.

The captain of the gods held out his hand, that heart-swiping smile still across his gorgeous, flawless face. "Alright then, Piers. I'll leave you with my office number. You can call me personally to set up a time for your interview." My hand slid into his own large one. As we both gave our hands a solid shake, I could feel the power behind those fingers and I wished that they would snatch me up and take me away. God, the feeling of his coarse and callused hands was almost enough to make me break, my mind adding to the sensation as I envisioned those rough hands travelling up my arm and onto my chest. With me naked and at his mercy, he'd want to explore and, perhaps, tease me some as he did so. After I'd gasped and mewed enough to satisfy his sadistic appetite, he would move his hands lower, those fingers going directly to my heat. _God_, I was still in uniform and still standing right in front of him. Not where I wanted-_needed_-to be. And already, I was imagining the impossible situation of him being at my apartment, the devilishly handsome god dressed in tight, dark wash skinny jeans-to show off those legs and his sure to be _divine _ass-all while his chest was exposed. I could see us on the couch, those fingers working my naked body to its very limit before his mouth finished me off.

The fantasy seemed to last for several minutes, certain parts of me throbbing and pulsing, begging for the release they so desperately needed. But, in reality, the handshake was over in a flash and when he removed his hand, I became breathless.

I watched him reach into his suit pocket, this time forcing myself to focus and _not_ think about where his hand was going, what it could possibly be touching, how it might work my body up or what that damn sexy chest must look like under his painfully thin-god, I could just rip it off-suit jacket. Pulling out a card with his name and number on it, he handed it to me and I took it.

In a special font, it said his full name and my heart nearly leapt out of my chest. _Christopher Redfield_.

"I'll be looking forward to your call, Piers." My attention flew back to him at the mentioning of my name. There was that smile again, capturing every ounce of me.

"Yeah," I managed, still breathless from our mythical-and _completely_ impossible-sexual encounter. "Thank you," I smiled a little, the thought of using his name too tempting to refuse, "Christopher."

"Of course." He nodded and turned to leave, my heart sinking into the floor as he did, but then he stopped and turned back a little, his brilliant brown eyes travelling over his shoulder and piercing right into my soul. "And you can call me Chris."

That smile-_god_, that _smile_-and every last bit of me melted into a puddle. He didn't even have to bang me against the building to turn me into a speechless puddle of happiness. I smiled back and he turned around again, leaving along with the director.

I watched him go, realizing I'd been right about his ass being divine.

And that's when I was hit with the need that'd been building inside of my system. I quickly went to the showers, peaking around to make sure I was completely alone. When I deemed that I was, I locked the door-even though it was against protocol-and shed off my uniform, tossing it carelessly to the side. Delicately, though, I sat the card I'd received down on one of the little counters that was inside the shower room-that counter where we're _supposed_ to place our neatly folded uniforms but, well, that wasn't going to happen today.

"Christopher Redfield." I smiled to myself but then shook my head, "No, _Chris_ Redfield. He said I could call him Chris." Just saying the name brought back the memory of his voice and how desperately I wanted to hear it again.

I'd call him tonight, set up an interview. Maybe make some small talk.

The very thought made my heart flutter-and the growing heat between my legs throb. I stepped into the shower and turned the water on, the heat of it serving as the perfect distraction as I set myself to work.

Chris Redfield.

Second-in-Command.

Yeah, I liked the sound of that.


	2. The Interview

Yes! Your requests have been granted! What started as a one-shot is becoming a small chapter fic! I'm thinking it'll only be around five chapters, so it won't be anything to earth-shattering or world-changing. Just Piers' internal struggling. Again, I'm leaving this as T (I would personally classify it as 'Older Teen' but there isn't such a category). If anyone thinks the rating needs to be increased, I'll do it, but until then I'll assume you guys can handle it.

Read and Enjoy! And Review, don't forget that part ; )

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The gleaming North American BSAA building stood before me, its bright windows reflecting back the dirty world and the well dressed-probably _way_ over dressed-me. The reflective glass captured every part of me, causing butterflies to flutter about in my stomach, threatening to eat their way through the lining and be set free. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves, reminding myself that people do indeed dress up for interviews and over stated was definitely better than understated.

It'd taken several days and nights of careful deliberation, but I'd managed to put together an outfit that said what I wanted it to say; professional yet relatable, dispended and yet not a stick-up-my-ass kind of person. The dark dress slacks made a good base color, black's a power color after all-and _everyone_ looks good in it. To top it off, I chose a grey vest over a sapphire blue under shirt. I'd once been told I look good in blue, so I decided to wear it so I could look as _sexy_ as possible-for the _interview_ and not the _interviewer_, naturally. You know what they say, if you look good, you feel good. Yup, that was definitely the _real_ reason. It had nothing to do with Chris.

God, just thinking about him, Christopher '_Chris_' Redfield, made my heart skip a beat. My entire body felt like it was on fire at the mere _thought _that I'd be seeing him today. That was the entire reason I also chose to wear a tie-I'd chosen a red silk one to complement the blue. I'd wanted to look impressive and maybe,_ just maybe_, I could get Chris to really notice me. Then he might just come up to me and lock his lips with mine. Our tongues would fight for dominance, his finally winning. And then his hands would get greedy, wandering along my body before finally undoing my red tie, those teasing fingers slipping under my dress shirt and reaching for my nipple. There, they would-

I jumped, giving a yelp, as the door to the building opened. A man in a suit stepped out, throwing a curious glance my way before descending the stairs that stacked themselves before the BSAA headquarters.

Calming my pounding heart, I chided myself for fantasizing at a time like this. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone-a piece of crap that really needs to be updated. I clicked the front screen to life, seeing it was almost noon. I took a deep breath, further suppressing my racing pulse-and heavenly desires. My interview was at noon exactly, as Chris wouldn't be available before his lunch break. Stuffing it back into my pocket, I pushed through the door, finding a lobby that reminded me of one that would be found in a hotel. Well furnished, warm colors-I hadn't expected it. There were people standing about chatting, possibly getting ready to go on their _own_ lunch breaks, and people with gathered items in their arms and, of course, receptionists who sat behind bullet proof glass. I could see them busy themselves with phone calls and Facebook.

Walking up to the closest desk, I rapped lightly on the glass to get her attention. She glanced up at me, a smile on her freckled face, "Hello. How can I help you?"

Just as I was about to speak, I was shoved out of the way by someone. I stumbled but managed to keep myself upright, throwing a glare to whoever had had the nerve to push me aside. Standing where I had just been was a man with platinum blonde hair and a spray tan of orange perfection. He was dressed in a white suit, on that matched his teeth. He gave a toothy smirk to the woman behind the glass before peaking over at me with his eyes. He probably saw my cold stare, because he frowned a little. Turning towards me, he waved his hands dismissively at me, "You do _know_ it's _rude_ to _stare_?" He winked towards the receptionist, who furrowed her brows in disgust, and then looked at me again, smiling at me with his pearly snappers, "I know it's hard not to stare, but please, stare from afar so I don't have to watch the drool drip from your mouth."

Mr. Spray Tan swiveled his head back to her and I could see her subconsciously lean back in her chair. He gave her what was probably _supposed_ to be a seductive face before he realized that I was still standing there. Giving another dismissive wave, he leaned his body against the small desk in front of the glass, attempting to make small talk with the receptionist.

I growled. The nerve! The _absolute _nerve! This guy was a real asshole, assuming he was _that_ irresistible! He wasn't even _that _good looking, what with his overly tanned skin. God, his _skin_ looked like someone had attacked it with an orange marker! I felt my blood boiling as I looked at him again and absently I wondered if it were a federal crime to assault stupid, cocky, ugly people. I was _not_ going to stand there and let Mr. Spray Tan get away with it.

"Hey," I spoke, surprising myself with my tone, "Excuse me, but I was here first. Wait your turn."

Mr. Spray Tan looked appalled at my suggestion-probably because he's a prick-and scoffed, "Do you know who I _am_?"

"No," I stated blandly, "And frankly, I don't give a damn. You can wait your turn." He turned on me, glaring down at me. But I held my gaze.

"Well, I'll inform you anyway. I am the heir of a very prestigious military line. I've graduated from West Point with high honors and am slated by my superior officers to be General in as little as 10 years. A petty nobody like you hardly deserves my time, so therefore I will _not_ wait behind you."

He was asking for it. I was about to knock him to the ground, pound his orange face into the warm burgundy carpet but a familiar voice stopped me.

"There you two are."

I twisted my head to the side, Mr. Spray Tan doing the same. Standing there with a smile on his face was none other than Christopher 'Chris' Redfield. He's just as dreamy as I remembered him to be, his voice just as rich and gruff, his scent as rough and sweet and body just as desirable-though _completely _underdressed since the last time I saw him. The pair of paint stained light blue denim jeans were the first thing to catch my eye-not because I was _looking_ at anything down there in specific!-because they hugged his _very muscular_ legs before cuffing over the boots he wore. Then there was the white t-shirt, which managed to flatter his figure-_god_, it hugged his chest and, _damn_, the sleeves wrapped themselves tightly around those delicious muscles on his arms, making them look, well, _god damn good…_

If only Chris would push the tanned bastard away, wrapping those arms securely around my lithe body, pulling me into that strong chest. Then he would kiss me tenderly, his hands sliding down my back lovingly before resting at my hips. And there we would stand, kissing, and Mr. Spray Tan would be crushed, jealousy and disappointment plastering over his ugly face just like that terrible spray tan.

Of course, my imagination was disrupted by Mr. Spray Tan stammering, "C-Captain Redfield. Hello!" He turned away from me, his hands clasping before him pleasantly. I could only glare again before glancing at Chris, the man wearing that heart-stealing smile as he looked over the orange man. "I was just asking for your office number. I'm ready for my interview."

Interview!? I wanted to scream! What the hell was a guy like Mr. Spray Tan doing with an interview with _my_ Chris!? Like that prick was even worthy of being in the same _room _as my Chris! I then looked at Mr. Spray Tan's face and instantly I became even more angry-but totally not because I was jealous or anything. _Definitely_ not. It was because of that _look_ in the guy's eyes, like he was checking my Chris out!

That bastard had no right to be looking at _my_ Chris like that! I stop thinking then, a blush rising to my cheeks when I realize how possessive I'm being. And about a guy who is _definitely, totally, completely_ straight. Hell, I didn't even know if he liked me as a friend or not. He might think I'm revolting and was only holding the interview because he was polite-that's a turn on, right there. I try to reason with myself, repeating what I'd been chanting mentally since the first time we parted ways-after my _very _relaxing shower-and that was that Christopher 'Chris' Redfield was dating, engaged, married, recently suffering from a bitter divorce or widowed and was _not_ interested in a relationship with anyone, _especially_ a _guy_.

So then Chris talked, addressing the overly tanned man with the blindingly clad white suit, "It's good to see you again, Conrad." The perfect man reached out his hand, an orange one filling it and shaking it firmly. "You look…different." Another wonderful smile, one that threatened to stop my heart.

"Yes," spoke this 'Conrad' person, "I figured if I were having an interview with the BSAA, I needed to look my best, so I got a tan so I could wear my best white suit." A ping of annoyance came over me as Conrad smiled at the sexy god before him. Chris was only supposed to call _me_ by my first name. That was supposed to be _our_ thing. Why else had I shared my first name with him? Well, other than the fact that it'd slipped out?

But Chris just smiled, "Well, it's always good to try and look your best."

The anger-_not_ jealousy-steadily increased, causing me to ball my fists. Conrad had pushed me out of line, insulted me and _now_ he was taking all of Chris' attention away from me! If it wouldn't have made me look bad, I would have rammed my fist into Conrad's orange-burned face. I'd beat the bastard right out of him, making him beg for mercy, causing him to flee from the building faster than a bullet. I'd make him _regret_ so much as _looking_ in Chris' direction.

"And Piers," that's when my anger melted, when I heard my name being spoken by that chocolate voice. Every nerve tingled and my breath flew out of my lungs. The nights of dreaming of him moaning my name as I wrapped my lips around his heat, the daydreams in the shower where he whispered my name lovingly into my ear as he slowly slide into me, none of it sounded or felt as enchanting as simply hearing him say my name. I looked at him, instantly being captured by his deep brown eyes. As he spoke some kind of hello to me, I watched his lips move, watched them curl into an honest smile and I had no idea how I was going to respond to him. I knew I couldn't just stand there staring-looking _incredibly_ stupid. I needed to say something, anything! I needed to say something that would make me look a million times cooler than Conrad!

"H-Hi." Mentally, I died right there. Such a simple word, one that wrenched its way free from my lungs and squeaked out as a response. I couldn't hold back the embarrassment that covered my face, tinting me cheeks a cherry red.

If he noticed, Chris didn't say anything about it. Instead, he glanced between the both of us, "Well, come back to my office and we can get this thing started." It took everything I had to keep myself from imagining a three way between Chris, Conrad and myself. Scratch that, Conrad wouldn't be welcomed. It'd just be myself and Chris going at it on his desk, shirts and shoes not even bothering to come off. Just the good old fashioned pants down, balls on the desk kind of fucking.

Chris turned his back towards me, those arms grabbing my attention again. Swallowing down the desirable imagines playing about in my head and somewhere else, I followed after, trying to keep a respectable distance-unlike _Conrad_-who was right beside him, speaking politely to _my_ Chris. Damn it, I was being possessive again.

"So," Conrad's voice grated against the silence like nails on a chalkboard, "you're get-up is definitely a shocker."

I could hear the smile in the sexy brunette's words, "I don't usually dress up for work. I spend all day training or working out, which means I'm in uniform-" god, I'd _die_ to see his body in uniform-or peeling _off_ a uniform, "-Or I'm in gym clothes." I could definitely see him going shirtless, ripped muscles exposed and the envy of _every _person that gazed upon him. "Sorry if my unprofessional display bothers you." He gave a light hearted chuckle, Conrad adding his tenor voice in as well-though his laugh sounded like a monkey's mating call.

After Conrad finished laughing, which lasted far _longer_ than Chris' laugh, he shook his bleached head. "It doesn't bother _me_. Though, it might bother _others_," the prick threw a small look back my way, "I'm not one to be annoyed by such things." And that's when Conrad did something that made me snarl, he _patted _Chris' back. My eyes flew to Chris' head, waiting to see him do something. But he didn't. Chris let that bastard touch him! And to make matters worse, Chris turned and smiled at Conrad, the orange bastard taking that as a go-ahead to place an arm around Chris' shoulders as they continued talking! And my Chris-he didn't do a thing!

I had to hide the betrayal from my face as I reminded myself _again_ that Chris didn't _have_ to shrug the guy off. He didn't _have_ to stop Conrad's advances. Besides, Chris and I weren't in a relationship of any kind-everything was _strictly_ professional-so my sexy god didn't have any reason _not_ to let Conrad touch him. The thought didn't make me feel any better, my anger seething under a calm surface-my military trained patience was coming in handy. I never thought I'd need to practice it on anyone other than a select few superior officers. Now I was getting all kinds of experience on dicks like Conrad.

We finally-thank god-reached Chris' office, one that was tucked away in a hall that was filled with other wooden doors. A plaque on the outside of his door read 'Christopher Redfield' in engraved, gold letters and my feet suddenly turned cold. My nerves started itching and my stomach preformed several backflips. I'd had nightmares about this interview and now, here I was, standing in front of death's door.

The beautiful man turned to me, that smile stealing my breath away, "Piers, Conrad's up first so you can chill through that door. It's the break room." He pointed in the direction of an unmarked door.

I couldn't manage a single word so I just nodded instead. After that, he gave me one last smile and headed into his office with that orange douche in tow. Conrad placed his hand on the door knob, preparing to close it, when he stopped and turned towards me, whispering, "You probably shouldn't even _bother_ with interviewing, _Pears."_ He snickered to himself before closing the door.

I took a deep breath, mumbling as I released it slowly, "It's _Piers,_ jackass." Once I knew the door had been securely closed, I turned and headed to the break room in question, revealing a small table and a couple of vending machines. Taking a seat, I gave a single thought to maybe grabbing something to munch on-to help stifle my nerves-but I dismissed the idea. Besides, my nerves weren't going haywire because of the _interview_…

I laid my head on the table, an overwhelming sadness starting to fill me. It was irrational to feel that way, but the more I tried to hold it in, the worse it got. When I'd first me Chris, our talk had seemed so exclusive, so…_personal_. But here he was calling Conrad by his first name-Like he did with me. And he had every right to, which was what was so stupid about it all. Where was it written that the men I'm crushing on can't flirt or be friends with other men? Hell, it wasn't even Chris who was flirting and yet I was angry at him-_and_ Conrad, of course. But mostly him. I'd never felt so dumb before…

And not only that, but it seemed like Conrad was applying for the same position I was. Had Chris seen him just like he saw me? Training in a mock battle, sweaty and dirty? Had Chris thought this man-_Conrad_-had leadership skills like me? That maybe Conrad could be a worthy Second-in-Command…just like me?

When Chris had told me that he thought I would be a good Second, I'd felt so special. He'd went out of his way to come and talk to me, to invite me to this stupid interview. But now I wasn't feeling very special at all, especially through my own eyes…

Anger surged in me. It was _stupid_ for me to go and fall in love with Chris, to try and pretend there was some kind of chemistry between us. Was I trying to get myself hurt? I mean, it was the first time since High School I actually felt, well, _something_ towards someone and, stupidly, I thought he could-_just might_-feel the same way. Hell, I'd sworn off the whole 'falling in love' _back_ in high school, after I got myself hurt because of the stupid notion of '_love'_! I mean, sure, there were always guys that I ended up feeling light headed around-none so much as Chris, but still-and I wouldn't let myself get carried away by _those_ feelings. I'd take care of it quickly-_addressing_ the sexual urge-and ending those ridicules feelings before they could come back to hurt me like they had before.

Here, I'd let myself get carried away and now I was going to get hurt again. Just how much suffering did I want to put myself through?

A knock on the door startled me out of my negative bubble, my heart ceasing its beating when my eyes landed on Chris. He was wearing that signature smile as he walked over and took a seat next to mine. "You ok?"

My heart pounded against my chest at our proximity. Mentally, I tried to make it stop, "Yah, just practicing my breathing." Damn it. It didn't matter how much I wanted to hate him, dislike him, dismiss him. I couldn't stop myself from loving him, even if it ended up _hurting_ me. I just wanted him to grab ahold of me, hug me close and kiss me tenderly, passionately. I wanted him to run his fingers through my short hair. I'd never wanted anything so badly!

And I hated myself more because of it. But if I wanted to be hurt so badly, if I _had_ to be taught this lesson again, I'd take it. Maybe it'd end my silly obsession with Chris, maybe it would keep me from ever loving someone again.

His light chuckle brought me back. He leaned his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together, giving me a sideways glance before speaking, "Sorry for the wait."

Honestly, I didn't know it'd been that long. "That's fine. I understand that these kinds of things take time and I'm ok with that." I started wondering how Conrad had done and suddenly the question began itching at the back of my throat. But I couldn't ask about it, I didn't want to hear how that prick had passed with flying colors, so I opted for changing the topic some, "Did your training go well this morning?"

He gave a short nod, "Yup. The men pulled through, got through the simulation without a hitch. They're good soldiers; they work hard, even if they're a bit reluctant to do so."

"Sounds about right," I smiled despite myself, "It seems like every team is that way. Once you get to know them, they become part of your family." Shaking my head, I rose it up and rested it against a single propped up arm, "And you know how families are. They can't be serious 100% of the time, but they're there when it counts."

A grin was evident in the beautiful man's voice, making my heart rate sky rocket, "You're right about that."

I dared a peak at his face-to lift my eyes from their glued position on the table. It was turned forward, his chin strong, his cheekbones tall and well defined. My eyes trailed down his thick neck, working to his shoulders and arms, those muscles flexed slightly and displayed for my guilty pleasure. Then, I worked my way to his side and then finally the top rim of his jeans. Although I couldn't see the rest of his legs, I didn't need too. I could imagine the rest, preferably when I got home and without clothes on. Hell, it wouldn't be that hard to imagine those legs straddling me as he slides onto my erect member, our bodies a perfect match for each other. It wouldn't be hard to invasion his perfect abs and pecks rising and falling quickly as he panted heavily from the rough foreplay and his greedy anticipation. And then he would slowly raise himself up and down, gliding along my already slickened heat, my hips unconsciously thrusting with him, causing us both to moan. It's a wonderful image but it doesn't last long. Chris is staring at me.

I give off a small squeak, jerking my head forward again as a bright shade of red covers every inch of my face.

"What was with that noise? You sounded like a mouse."

The blush intensifies, "It's nothing. My cell phone just vibrated and it startled me, that's all." I surprised myself with the answer I concocted. It was _almost_ believable.

But for _millions_ of tense seconds I awaited the verdict, wait for Chris to announce if he believed me or not-I mean, I was _staring_ at him for Christ's Sake! Was it even _possible_ for him to believe me? "Cell phone, huh?" He states slowly, his eyes looking over at me. Damn it, here it comes. The moment where he realizes I'm gay-and gay for _him_-and doesn't want to have anything to do with me.

I can see him looking at me-_judging_ me-from the corner of my eye and it causes me to stiffen but my heart's beating a million miles a minute. He surely knows! I mean, I was totally checking him out, my eyes feeling up his side and arms. There's no _way_ he missed it! Just no way! This is the point where my stupid feelings come back and hurt me. Just like before, just like always.

I'd called it-from a million miles away I'd called it-but I couldn't stop myself from getting involved with someone like him. Now, I was going to pay.

Chris opened his mouth to speak but closed it again, looking away from me for a second before returning his stare. Finally, he spoke, "This is kind of embarrassing to ask but…" Here it comes, rejection, disgust, "How do you get your phone to vibrate? I've searched through this stupid thing a billion times-you know, because it always rings during meetings and they're all like '_set it to vibrate, Chris_' but I can't figure out how, so…can you help me?"

I stared dumbly at him through his entire explanation and then I watched him dig into his pocket, pulling out a very fancy looking iPhone. My eyes flicked from it to him before I nodded slowly, "Uh yah, I can help you with it. Let me see it."

Chris gives me the phone, our fingers touching lightly together as he handed it off. The small, quick warmth of his fingers, the gentle touch, it all went south. Ignoring the rising color in my cheeks, I clicked the screen to life and the image of a redheaded girl showed up as the screen saver. Before I could keep myself from asking, I pointed towards the screen, "Who's this?" Inwardly, I began to panic. It had to be his girlfriend, no doubt about it. But at least it would give me some closure, some way to validate with myself that Chris was taken and there was no way we were _ever_ going to be together.

"Oh, her? That's my little sister, Claire. She's cute, huh? The spitting image of yours truly." He jabbed a thumb at himself, a smug, yet playful, look crossing his face.

A tiny smile tugged at my lips and I shook my head, "No offense Chris, but you're not what I'd classify as cute." Sexy or handsome, yes, but not cute.

Mock shock covered his face, "Me? Not cute? I don't know what you mean." He gave a big grin then, a chuckle escaping from his thin, beautiful lips.

"To each their own, Chris. But you're right, she's cute." I feel my heart rate increase with each new word I speak to him, my confidence growing just as fast. Maybe this whole 'crush' wasn't such a bad thing after all? Maybe I'd been overreacting?

Chris just smiled at me, "But don't be getting any ideas on trying to date Claire. She's all goo-goo eyed for some blonde kid, Leon or something."

I couldn't hold back my cheeky grin, "Don't worry. I've got someone else I'm interested in anyway." Fuck. Why did that slip out? Like he _really_ needs to know that about me.

"Strange, I would have thought a handsome man like you would have been taken by now."

My heart stopped at the word 'handsome'. He thought I was handsome? Instantly, my world was spinning with ecstasy, my entire body feeling lighter than air. Euphoria set in, my brain repeating what Chris had said over and over, each one shooting down to my groin and throughout my body. Damn it, he'd called me 'handsome'!

But I forced myself to concentrate, pushing back the wonderful feelings swirling inside of me, "Yah, well, sometimes it's not that easy to find Mr. Right-uh, Mrs. Right," I _want_, no, _need_ to die, "Whatever. It's not easy to find the right person."

"Amen to that," Chris spoke, as if he didn't hear my painful slip-up. Maybe he really was just _that_ obtuse about things? "I can't manage to find a good catch either. My dad keeps telling me it's because I have the emotional understanding of a rock-" Wow, that makes _so_ much sense, "-But I keep telling him it isn't me, it's the chicks. If they were just open about their feelings instead of _expecting me_ to read their minds, it would work out. You know?" He gives me this huge grin and I can't help but smile back.

Damn it, the more he spoke, the more charming he became. He was absolutely perfect-save his inability to read people's emotions or expressions. Of course, that'd saved my ass so I couldn't complain too much.

I finished fiddling with his phone, sliding it into his view. "This is how you change it between ringer and vibrate." I clicked the little side panel of buttons, causing the volume to rise and fall, eventually reaching the mute and then vibrate. It gave off a satisfying buzz and Chris smirked.

"It was that easy all along. No wonder Jill kept telling me it wasn't as hard as I was making it. I guess I owe her an apology." I didn't want to know what process he was trying to go through to change the volume, as it sounded like it got him a whole lot of lost but not much else. Smiling at him, I pushed it the rest of the way in front of him, tucking my arm back in front of myself. "Thanks," he spoke, looking over at me.

"You're welcome."

We sat in a comfortable silence then, my head still swimming in the complement he'd given me earlier. Handsome. He'd called me handsome. I'd never been called that by anyone besides my mother, and that was when I was dressed in uniform and graduating from the military academy. My father had said it too, but it was kind of creepy coming from him since he and I had never been all that touchy-feeling before.

"So, about your interview."

I'd completely forgotten! "Right. I'm sorry, we can go and talk right now. That is, if you have the time to."

"No, no, Piers. About your interview, you're hired."

Everything in the world paused, ceased for a single moment. "H-Hired? But you haven't even looked at my-"

"I looked at your resume before you got here. You're _very _qualified for the position, but those sheets of paper can only tell me so much. Your character is what I'm more interested in, if I can get along with you, if the _men_ will be able to get along with you." A breath taking smile crossed his lips and my heart skipped a beat again. Was he being serious? "You're so casual with me and I like that. There's none of that awkward tenseness that people have when they're around a man like me. It's nice."

"But, what about Conrad?" That dick had a billion times better resume than I had. Other than the fact he was an utter prick to me, surely Chris would want to hire him. Accolades from every school he'd ever attended, a long history of military excellence. Hell, as he'd stated, he was considered by all of his higher ups as an up and coming star-someone who'd surely gain the rank of General within 10 years.

"Oh, him." The distaste in Chris' voice made me oddly excided, but I held my breath in anticipation for the rest of it. "While Mr. Henry Conrad has a lot of promise, his personality is a bit, well, let's just say it needs some help."

I didn't even catch the rest of Chris' sentence. "Henry?"

"Huh? Yeah, Henry Conrad. What, do you know him and just didn't recognize him on account of his hideous spray tan?"

"His first name is Henry?"

"That's what his file said, and that's what he told me in the interview. So, yes. I guess his first name is Henry."

I couldn't contain myself. He hadn't been calling Conrad by his first name after all. I was special. I threw myself out of my chair, my arms wrapping around Chris' muscular frame. His warmth surrounded me as his arms reached up and returned the hug! God, he _returned_ the hug! Chris was actually hugging me! I squeezed my arms as much as possible, burying my face into his neck. I could smell his sweet scent, one that reminded me of warm honey with a splash of pine-and sweat, he still smelled of sweat even after washing up. Not surprising. It still smelled so good. His heart beat pounded against his skin-wait, was it faster than normal? And I found myself relaxing into his arms, resting my leaning body against his chest even more. God, he was comfortable.

Then he chuckled, the earthy sound echoing from his chest and vibrating against me. "Wow, someone's excited about his new job."

I'd let him think that. Reluctantly, I removed myself from the hug, instantly feeling weak in the knees as I gazed into his smile. I just wanted to kiss him but I _would not_ allow myself to get _that_ carried away. "Thank you so much, Chris." As far as he knew, I was thanking him for the job but it was _much_ more than that.

"You're very welcome, Piers." He glanced at his watch, looking a little frustrated, "And my lunch break is over. Time to go do some weight training." He smiled, standing up. Our bodies were literally inches apart, and although the distance felt nice, I backed up a little, giving Chris his space.

"I'm sorry. Our talking kept you from getting lunch."

"Nah, I'll just eat as the men work out. I'll bark some orders at them while my mouth is full, turkey sandwich flying everywhere." He swept his arms around himself, grinning widely.

I gave off a small laugh, Chris following suit. I shook my head and took a deep breath, an idea popping into my head. "I'm really sorry, though. Let me make it up to you sometime. I'll take you out for lunch, my treat." Ballsy statement, yes, and waiting for a response was even more painful than when I thought he'd found out I was gay not minutes before.

Chris' smile stole my heart-_again_-as he responded, "I'd like that. But you better be ready to pony up the dough for it. I don't eat cheap."

Giving him a smirk, I spoke, "I'll make sure to bring my check book. Sound good?"

"Definitely." He stuck out his hand-like the first time we'd said goodbye. "I'll call you and let you know when to come in. Welcome to the team, partner."

I looked down at his extended hand, the familiarity of it swarming over me. I'd only shaken his hand once but, for some reason, the motion seemed to carry a lot of weight, a lot of sadness. I shook my head and smiled. This wasn't our final goodbye, no, it was our official beginning.

I took his hand in mine.

* * *

I feel it is necessary to apologize to anyone named Henry or Conrad. Just saying.


	3. The Date

So yah, I said I'd get this out in two weeks and, well, you have to kind of stretch your imagination to get it to fit into that time frame. But it's out now!

Note: there is some very harsh language in this chapter, so if you're insulted by slurs and the like, please be aware that it's there.

Also, if you're loving Piers' Lament, check out my other RE story, Operation: Interlude. You just might love it, too!

Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

The turret fire had me pinned literally between a rock and a hard place. I peeked over the top of the dirty, steel framed box that was keeping me from becoming Swiss cheese, catching sight of the man stationed behind the mounted machine gun that sat on top of the metal tower. His eyes were locked with mine, the gun whirling to top speed before unleashing a spray of metal fragments.

I drop just in time, my ears ringing with the sound of metal biting metal. It continued for what felt like decades before finally ceasing, the man behind the gun giving off an incoherent-and most likely profane-shout.

Taking a deep breath, I reload my anti-material rifle, checking it over to make sure the gun had no way of jamming up. I have one opening-one chance-to make this shot, otherwise I'd be torn to shreds by the spray of bullets that'd follow my misfire. Checking the scope, I deemed myself ready, so I turned my body to face the front of the box, the dry dirt scuffling under my boots. Deep breathes enter and exit my lungs as I position myself for the kill, as I bring the gun to my chest and will my legs to spring me up.

It doesn't take me more than a second to level my gun with the man behind the machine gun. I can feel it, he's spotted me now. His hands are working the trigger, making the machine whirl to life.

I have him in my sights, his head in my crosshairs. Sucking in a quick breath, I let it out slowly and pull the trigger, the bullet speeding forward. Not even a heartbeat passes before I see the man reel back, a messy concoction of blood, skull and brains spraying everywhere as he falls away from the gun and lays dead on the floor.

In that instant, the high pitched whirl dies away and silence greets me. Relief floods my system, but I don't revel in it. I lower my gun, sliding over the punctured box and make my way over to the tall structure the man had been stationed at. Cautiously, I glanced around before climbing the rusty red ladder, making my way to the top. I pull myself up, staying low as I scan the area for enemies.

There are none.

Standing and dashing across the top of the platform, I grab a hold of what I've been fighting towards, a black and gold flag. I yank it from its stand and hold it up proudly before everything around me goes white and the buzz of electrical machines shutting off fills my ears.

The battlefield I'd been in disappears, replaced by a fully white room with hair-thin silver strands in the walls. The flag that I'd been holding turned into nothing more than a silver stick, hollow on the inside. I lowered it and looked up, seeing my reflection in the observation window of the simulation room.

I can feel Chris' chocolate brown eyes on me as his deliciously smooth voice plays over the speakers. "Damn, Piers! Color me impressed. I mean, _really_ impressed!" I can't help but grin at his kind words. He speaks again, "Your simulation test course is complete. Head back to the lockers, kid."

"Copy." I smirk into the word as I step towards the exit. The air locks disengage, causing the door to open with a 'pop'. I step through it, the blinding white around me being traded for grays and blues. It's a relief to see as I place the pipe on a rack filled with identical ones. Stepping through an archway, I reach the locker room, the entire place empty save myself and the clothing scattered about. I work on untangling myself from the Kevlar, tossing it to the side so I can peel off my sweat soaked shirt. The cool air that immediately attacks my exposed chest feels wonderful and I mentally beg it to continue.

Chris had given me quite the complement-he was _really_ impressed, after all. Just thinking back on the words he spoke only moments ago made my heart race. God, what if he told me that after _other_ kinds of activities?

As I yanked off my smelly boots, I couldn't help but imagine him there doing it for me.

He'd sensually kiss the top of my feet, expressing how tired they must be after working so hard. But he wouldn't linger there for long. His hands would work up to my belt buckle, undoing it tortuously slow. He'd give little kisses to my naval as his hands continued their _very slow_ progress, his lips only stopping as he undid the facets of the pants and hooks his fingers around them, capturing the waistband of my boxers, too.

My hands drop to remove my pants…

I'd moan as he pulls everything down, revealing an already partially erect member. He'd eye it hungrily before looking up into my eyes, which are urging him-no, _begging_ him to do it. His lips move dangerously close to it, his hot breath brushing against me, driving me crazy.

My hands do exactly what I want his mouth to do…

He'd open his mouth, ready to take me fully, hot breath getting even more teasingly close-

"Damn Piers, that was really good shooting out there!"

I nearly jump out of my skin as I quickly grab something to cover my _very_ naked-and _very_ needy-body. I turn instantly to see Chris standing there, his happy grin shrinking slightly. "Did I…interrupt something?"

"What! N-no! Sorry, I mean…" I was at a completely loss for words, my eyes darting away from Chris' painfully blank expression to wander around the other lockers. I try to control my breathing, try to make the stupid blush on my face disappear-I'd try to make _myself_ disappear if it were even possible too.

"Well, it's not a problem. I mean, I can come back later…"

Part of me wanted to say yes, but that was as bad as admitting to what he'd witnessed. "No, really, it was nothing. I'm fine."

Chris just stares at me quietly before shrugging, "Alright." He leans against the door and smiles at me, "Like I was saying, your shooting was astounding. When I first saw you at the military shooting range, I was taken back by your skill, now I'm just blown-" God, that word was _not_ needed right now, "-away. That solo mission you just ran was set at a very high difficulty, yet you stayed calm and handled it very well." His smile widened, taking the breath out of my already depleted lungs.

"Thank you, Chris. It's an honor to hear that from you." I manage.

He crosses his arms, kicking a leg over the other, smirking brilliantly at me. I try to look at him too, but every time I do, my heart rate races to a lethal level.

It's something I've known about the god since first laying eyes on that fuckable body. He's flawless, gorgeous and absolutely stunning, even in the baggy jeans and loose t he's wearing today. Because of his dashing good looks, it became nearly impossible for me to keep myself calm around him.

I hoped-_god_, I hoped-that this was a phase of some kind. That after a little while longer, I'd be immune to his presence. In my heart of hearts I know there's always going to be a tiny part of me-down south-that stirs upon seeing him, but I desperately hope that the fluttering in my stomach and the speed of my pulse would decrease dramatically.

Until that faithful day, I'd have to suffer.

"So, are you ready to train with the men?" He asks with that smirk that always steals my heart, "They're really excited to meet you."

I force myself to relax, both my tense muscles _and_ the thing between my legs, before I answer. "I'm excited to meet and train with them, too. From what I've seen from the BSAA training sessions I've attended, I can tell they're good." Deciding that I looked like a completely idiot just standing there shielding myself from his gaze, I busy myself with grabbing a towel from the rack on the left wall. I wrap it around my waist, feeling better now that all of my bases are covered. I work on gathering my street clothes from my opened locker as Chris' voice teases my ears.

"Yup. I pride myself with having the best time in the BSAA. There's a reason we train 6 days a week."

I smile at that. To some, that would see like over kill. Even I was a bit wary of the training schedule upon first glance. But there's one thing that makes it bearable, one thing that sold me on the intrusive work life I'd get to see Chris 6 days a week, from 5 to noon. Yes, waking up early is a bitch but getting to see Chris' ready and willing face, seeing that sunshine expression? It made it all worth it. "I can understand that," I state simply.

I pull the last of my clothes on, feeling relieved to be dressed in my jeans and zip up jacket-despite the humidity in the room and the heat radiating from my core. I turn to face him, my flushed cheeks _finally_ returning to their proper color. Smiling-and half way hoping it stole his heart-I closed my locker and walked towards him, those muscles moving away from the door to allow me some clearance. When I step into the hall, the cool air chills my sweaty body. A shiver rattles me, Chris taking notice. "You'll never get use to the temperature change from the locker room to the hall, just so you know."

I smirk at him, "I can only imagine its worse when there are 20 sweaty guys crowded around each other, making the room even hotter."

He gives off a short laugh, "That's the truth. You've got sweaty guys and their sweaty clothes. The showers are running hot…everyone's rushing to get home so the entire room steams up like a sauna."

The image playing through my mind isn't a bad one to look at, what with a bunch of fit, muscular, _naked_ men walking around, some drenched in sweat and others coated with hot water droplets. The sweet and alluring scent of body spray mixing in the air with that scent, the one I can never resist-I call it 'man scent'. I pray to whoever's listening that I'm not drooling at the thought of it all, especially when my mind included Chris in the mix of naked bodies and he's pinning me against the lockers so the _entire_ team could _welcome_ me, show me a good time.

"So," he spoke, words cool though his body told me differently. Honestly, he looked a little nervous, something I didn't believe he could ever be-what with all of that _sexy_ confidence. "You still owe me lunch."

I hadn't forgotten about that. After the interview had taken up all of Chris' lunch break, I'd told him I'd take him out to lunch, my treat. The very proposal had made my heart bruise my rib cage, but it'd paid off. Chris had said yes. Now, it seemed, he wanted to take me up on my offer. Heat instantly rushed through my entire body, despite the cold air brushing against my skin.

Smiling as charmingly as I can manage, I said, "That's right. I do, don't I? Well, I'm free for the rest of the day if you want to grab something now." Outwardly, I looked calm but on the inside I was panicking. What if he realized I was into him? It'd been a close call during the interview, what with my stupid eyes undressing him. I had no idea what I would do if he found out I was completely and totally infatuated with him. I'd probably die right then-of embarrassment.

But my over dramatic fears proved to be nothing-_again_-when he gave off a huge grin. "That'd be great. I've been starving myself since you made the offer just so I can eat as much free food as possible."

I laughed at his enthusiasm. "Then let's grab some grub. I'm hungry, too."

There wasn't any piddling around after that. Chris knew exactly where he wanted to go. Apparently there was a sandwich place that I just _had_ to try. They had steak burgers and turkey sandwiches-everything!-and if there was something special you wanted, you'd just have to ask. I'd never actually heard of the place-Chris called it the Mustard Seed-but it sounded good enough.

I drove us there, feeling my pulse race when he got into my car. Vivid images of him doing me as my back ground against the stick shift continued to play with my mind-and _other_ parts of me. But I swallowed the blush and managed a casual conversation until we reached the deli house in question. Its outside appearance was nice, a deep red with green trim, and through the large windows in the front I can see clusters of customers happily nibbling away on sandwiches and chips.

"What are we waiting for? Let's get inside." We got out of my car, heading into the building. The smell instantly caught my attention. I could smell the alluring scent of freshly ground coffee beans, their aroma mixing well with the different roasting meats and the freshly fried potato chips. My stomach growls as I continue to breathe in the warm smells around me.

We're seated quickly, our table for two feeling intimate despite the professional relationship between us. Eagerly, Chris looks at the menu and I can't help but feel a flutter in my stomach again. This was actually happening. We were meeting for lunch. To me, it was like a first date. A little awkward because you don't know what to say but not so awkward that you can't wait to get the hell out of there.

To preoccupy myself, I glanced over the menu, my eyes diving right into the coffees. A latte sounds good to me. A caramel latte sounded even better. But a chocolate caramel latte just sounded orgasmic. I smirked to myself as dirty little images dance into my head, but they quickly disappear at the knocking of knuckles on the wooden table. I nearly jump from my seat as my head spins around to see who'd done it.

That's when an odd mixture of surprise, disgust and anger swells within me as my eyes examine every last bit of the waiter standing in front of the table. It was the last place I'd expected to find someone like him, someone who was from a long, prestigious line of military men-a man who was to become a general in 10 years' time according to his superiors.

He seemed just as taken aback at my scowling face, "Pears?"

I growl under my breath, "It's _Piers_."

The two of us didn't break eye contact, a small amount of tension building between us. It was Chris who broke that tension with a light-hearted chuckle. "Conrad? I never expected you to be _waiting_ a table. What are you doing here?"

The obnoxious spray tan was still coating his skin heavily; though the color was starting to fade some-making it burnt orange instead of neon. I could see the falsely tanned skin bunch up as he frowned and furrowed his brow, "It's nothing, sir…I just do this part time is all. Why are you here with," his eye flick in my general direction, "_him_."

Even with the poisonous way Conrad spoke, Chris kept a smile on his lovely face and an almost melodic tone in his voice. "Me? Piers owes me lunch and now he's paying up. I thought this place would be nice." The glare I receive from Conrad couldn't have been more obvious-even if he'd put a fucking sign over me that said 'I absolutely _despise_ this man'. He was pissed as hell at me. Well, the feeling's mutual. Chris' voice brought him out of the glaring battle he'd entered with me, "Can I get a cup of coffee? Black?"

Conrad looked less than thrilled about the question, but he jotted it down on the thin, yellow sheets of paper in his hand. He looked at me then, that angry glare still fixed on his overly tanned face. "And what do you want?"

"I'll take a chocolate caramel latte. A shot of espresso in there, too." I don't so much as crack a smile. He writes the latte order down before turning away and leaving us to ourselves. I watch him disappear into the crowd, halfway wondering if he's going to spit in my drink.

"Well, that certainly was a surprise…"

Chris had probably meant that to be rhetorical, but I commented on it anyway. "Tell me about it. He was supposed to become _general_ in 10 years. I'm not sure how he's going to do that working part time here." I realize how sarcastic the statement sounded. I hoped against hope that Chris wasn't getting the vibe that there was some kind of jealous between myself and Conrad. Because there isn't one! Never. It didn't matter to me that he flirted with my Chris, or taunted my skills because he's _so_ high and mighty. I don't get _jealous_ over stuff like that…

I looked at Chris, his calm smile causing my heart to miss a beat. "So Piers, tell me about yourself." He says. "You know, besides what I've learned from your file."

Trying to hide the blush that appears on my cheeks, I turn my head to stare out the window we're seated next to. "There's not much about me really. I'm pretty average. Pretty boring."

"Oh come on, someone like you _has_ to be interesting."

_Someone like me_? I really don't know what that's supposed to mean, or if it's a complement or not. Shrugging it off, I wave a hand absently as I force myself to look back at Chris-despite the way it makes my heart thump. "I'm not all that special. My gun skills is about as good as it gets with me." _And_ my bedroom skills, but I don't include that part.

"Come on, someone as nice as you has to have some good stories and interesting qualities. Don't be so shy."

Shy. That was definitely a good word to describe me. He had no idea how hard it was to actually talk to people, especially him. Someone who was so forward and confident, it put my fragile and shakily built confidence to shame. Most of my life I was just a shy kid who never spoke up for himself. It wasn't until after high school that I'd decided to change that about myself. I was tired of being pushed around, of being ignored. So I faked it and eventually, that charade became who I was, albeit still very much in progress.

Looking wearily at him, I found myself wondering if he was always this persistent with people-even in bed. Heat steadily lingered to two places, one being my face. I _really_ needed to stop thinking like that. "Well?" He asks again as he leans forwards a little, that sexy smile spreading even bigger on his handsome face.

Was he actually genuinely interested in me? In what I had to say? Because, he'd certainly be the first. Letting out a sigh, I gave him a playful smile, "Alright, you win. But since I'm telling you something interesting, you have to cough up a fact about yourself."

That grin on Chris' face only got wider, "I can do that, sounds like fun." Why did his smile taunt me so? In fact, why did his entire body, the way it leaned forward, the way his legs moved and bumped into mine under the table. I couldn't allow myself to think about any of it, though. If I wanted to keep myself from looking like a _complete_ idiot in front of him, I'd have to steal my mind and body against any and all thoughts related to Chris' sexy, muscular, toned, tanned, ripped, smoking hot body.

Sucking in a deep breath, I decided to keep it professional and avoid admitting to anything _too_ interesting. I didn't want him getting the wrong idea about me and changing his mind about wanting to get to know me more. "I guess one thing that's interesting about me is that I'm a really good cook."

"Really? I can see that, actually. You seem like the kind of guy who knows his way around the kitchen." That smile again. God, I wanted to die. He actually looked interested-it was remarkable. He had to be the world's best liar because there was no way he was _actually_ interested in what I was saying. "Anyway, it's your turn." The words rush out of my mouth faster than any head shot I'd ever taken.

At that moment, though, Conrad returned with our drinks in hand-mine probably 50% spit. "Have you decided what you want to eat yet?"

Chris apparently had, as he rattled off his order faster than Conrad could jot it down. Once Chris' order was taken, though, it was my turn and honestly, I hadn't even looked at the food items on the menu. Quickly, I opened it up and found something that sounded tasty. A roast beef sandwich. Speaking my order, and making sure to emphasize the absence of pickles, the overly tan man wrote it down and left without another word.

"So, go on," I encouraged. He sat forward a little more, a hand going to rub at the stubble on his chin. I couldn't concentrate as I watched that hand delicately caress that perfectly chiseled chin. What if that was my chin instead? Or something a lot lower…? No! I couldn't let myself think about it!

"I use to spend my afternoons after high school at the animal shelter taking care of all of the different animals. Dogs were my favorite to take care of."

_God_, that was so _sweet_! I could vividly imagine a younger-but still highly sexy-Chris walking a group of dogs or brushing the fur of a calico cat. He'd have a gentle smile on his face, one that showed the softness he possessed despite his strong, rough appearance.

"Your turn again."

I nearly jump out of my seat at the sound of that chocolaty voice. "Well, let's see…" I hadn't thought up another fact about myself so I was kind of stuck. Skimming through my brain quickly, I pulled out the first thing that came to my mind. "When I was young, my sister and I use to pretend to be super heroes and we'd go around the house 'saving the day'." Looking at Chris, I could see a huge, warm smile spreading across his face.

"That's adorable. I didn't know you had a sister."

The mentioning of my little sister managed to bring a small smile to my face. "Yeah, her name's Maria. She looks a lot like me and has a heart of pure gold. A sweetheart, you know?" I look at Chris, whose eyes are filled with a strange fondness. Probably because he's got a younger sister too and my talking about Maria makes him thing of-Claire, wasn't it? "She's a few years younger than me and is studying to be a doctor."

"Wow, those are some high aspirations."

"She's smart and very diligent in her studies." I shake my head, "Puts my efforts to shame, really. She always manages to outshine me. That use to bother me actually," I can't help the sour look that crosses my face. It had always bothered me that my little sister was so beautiful, smart, funny, _popular_. She'd always managed to capture everyone's attention, especially my parents. Ironically, despite all of that, I'd always looked up to her. I would have given anything to be like her. It wasn't until college that I changed that view.

There's a strange silence between us at that moment. It's not quite comfortable and not quiet awkward. It falls into the funny middle ground that has no name. Chris finally breaks it though, "I completely understand that." He takes a sip of his coffee and I just stare at him stunned. What was that supposed to mean? Before I can work up the courage to ask, he elaborates, "Don't get me wrong, I don't hold it against Claire at all, but she was their little girl. She got everything she wanted and they always made sure to take good care of her. I was jealous of that when I was younger, but like you, as I got older I realized I was being silly for holding a grudge against her for something out of her control." He took another sip of his coffee and smiled a heart melting smile at me, "Sometimes being the big brother is harder than it looks."

"I'll drink to that," we click our cups together in mock toast, drinking deeply of our richly textured beverages. It tastes good-not like spit-and the chocolate and caramel working in perfect harmony. Setting the drink down, I gesture openly to him, "Anyway, it's your turn."

He thinks for a minute before speaking. "Well, I'm nearly 40 and I'm still single."

My heart rams headlong into my ribs, shoving every last breath out of my lungs. My jeans are suddenly very tight and it takes every last bit of brain function to keep myself contained. Why the _fuck_ had he said that!? I force a pleasant smile on my face as I consider my next words carefully. Should I feign dismissal? Act like I don't really care? Or should I be truthful and tell him that if he wants to _even_ just get laid sometime-I'm not picky about the whole dating verses just having crazy sex thing-I'm very free and _very_ willing. Hell, I'd do it on this table even. Sure, I'd hate myself later and would never be able to show my face in this restaurant, or even this part of town, again but it'd be worth it. Or, if he wanted some privacy we could take it to the back-so he could do me _in_ the back. God, these thoughts weren't helping the growing interested between my legs at all. I'm feeling feverish and now my palms are getting sweaty. Realizing I _have_ to say something, I speak, sounding constricted, "Really? How can that be?"

He shrugs, those delicious muscles moving under his t-shirt. It's like his muscles are begging me to stripe that shirt right off of them, revealing them for my fingers to trace... "Maybe it's me." He says, bringing me back to the conversation. "Like I told you before, I have the emotional empathy and understanding of a brick wall. I've also got commitment issues…long story there. So, I don't know." He takes a sip of his coffee, looking into it quietly. In that moment, I can really see Chris. Yes, he's outgoing and loud, but deep down he's soft and easy to hurt. He's one of those guys that's really good at pretending he isn't hurt by things.

In a lot of ways he's like me.

A need to comfort him emerges inside of me. I give him a sideways smirk, "Well, just because you're 40-"

He cuts me off, "_Nearly_ 40. Don't go adding years where they don't belong."

"Sorry," I chuckle out, "_Nearly_ 40 and have some emotional dysfunction doesn't mean you'll never find love. You're a good guy, Chris. Strong, compassionate. Just because you've got a few flaws doesn't mean there isn't someone out there that's special for you." My heart is pounding a million miles a minute at each word that passes through my lips. He leans back, as if considering what I've told him, and then nods slowly, an award-winning smile appearing on his face again.

"You think so? Really?"

"Yup." It's true to me, at the very least. If he asked to go on a date with me, I'd say yes in a heartbeat-and then proceed to have a panic attack about it later-because of those good qualities about him. He's a genuine man, unlike so many I'd met before. He actually legitimately _cares_ about people, which attracted me like a moth. How he couldn't see it was beyond my comprehension.

"Well thanks, Piers. You're a real gentleman."

I shrug off the compliment, "I'm just telling the truth, Chris."

At that moment our food arrived. Conrad rather rudely sat my plate down before more calmly setting down Chris'. "Can I get you anything else?" He sneered, his beady eyes glaring down at me. We both shook our heads and he left, mumbling to himself all the way. I watched him go, raising an eyebrow as his back disappeared into a rather large crowd of people who'd just come in off the streets. "I still wonder why he's working part time here when he could be off doing military things, like kissing more ass."

Chris responded, his words covered with the steak burger he'd gotten, "My guess is his ambition got the better of him."

Finally, I turned my attention away from the crowded forms before me and looked back at the devilishly handsome man in front of me. He was idly munching on his burger, not feeling the need to clarify what he'd said. I didn't want to pry into its meaning. After all, dwelling on Conrad's position was the _last_ thing I wanted to do on my date with Chris. Picking up my burger and taking a bite out of it, instantly spitting the content out on my plate. Gagging, Chris gave me a strange look as I quickly pulled the bun off the roast beef sandwich. There, staring mockingly at me, were those evil little green things: pickles. With a disgusted expression and Chris' chuckles in my ears, I peeled them off of the sandwich, discarding them on the very edge of my plate. "God, I hate pickles."

After inspecting my sandwich-I did _not_ want another little green surprise in there-I deemed it safe to eat and picked it up again, something catching my eye as I did. A small slip of yellow paper, half covered in sauce and discarded pickle juice.

"What's that?" Chris' inquire caused my eyes to shoot up. "Why is there a piece of paper on your plate?" Without answering the brunette's question, I scooped it up and looked it over, a frown settling on my face.

Growling and placing my sandwich down, I stood up, pushing my chair back. "Excuse me for a moment, Chris. I'll be right back." I ignored the other words coming out of Chris' mouth as I left the table, walking to the front counter with the piece of paper firmly wadded in my hand. It didn't take the person at the front but a second to look at me and back away a little. I can only _imagine_ what my face looked like, a frown twisted on my lips and anger gleaming in my eyes. I asked for Conrad and the man pointed to the back.

He probably though I was going to kill that arrogant son of a bitch-should have.

I push my way into the break room, finding Conrad sitting at the small grey table housed in the dumpy looking back. He glares at me, a smirk splitting his tan face in half. "That didn't take long."

"Yah, well, when you call someone a fag, it tends to make them upset." Closing the door behind me, I stand straight and glare into his eyes. I wasn't about to back down and run away from this bastard. He's got me angry and I'm just about ready to punch his face into the ground. I hold up the scrap of paper, the stains from my sandwich smudging the ink a little, "_You're such a fag, fucking him into accepting you_," I read, crushing the paper in my hand again, "Really? That's hardly mature, Conrad."

"Well, it's true." The tan man stood up, turning towards me, "There's no way Captain Redfield would have picked an upstart want-to-be like you over someone as qualified as I." Stepping towards me, we were inches apart from beating the crap out of each other. "But no, you go and _fuck_ his ass some, and he feels obligated to bring you on the team."

"That's not how it is."

"Oh _right_. He only wants you around because you'll make a good fuck toy when he's stressed."

Anger flares through me. "You take that back, you prick."

Conrad just smiled, "You'd enjoy the Captain up your ass, though, wouldn't you? You're a dirty, little whore. You'd let him do anyth-" My fist collided with Conrad's tanned cheek, sending him flying back. He crashed into the table, the chairs collapsing to the ground with him with a loud clatter and bang. My chest was heaving up and down as my hazel eyes bore into him. The tan bastard sat up, gingerly touching his cheek. The pain that streaked across his face was enough to tell me that that punch _really_ hurt.

I was seething, "Don't you _dare_ talk about me like that! I'm not like that-not like you. I don't suck up and kiss every ass that comes my way with some fancy chance at promotion. You want to know why he picked me over you? Because you're a _fucking_ prick!" If it wasn't for my military trained reserve, I would have bashed his skull in. Every ounce of me was pissed-_really_ pissed-and the way Conrad talked, acted all high and mighty, was making it worse. I'd worked my way to where I was-nothing but me and raw talent. It had _nothing_ to do with sucking up to Chris.

Rubbing the dribble of spit and blood from his mouth, Conrad glared up at me as he slowly worked his way to his feet, "You ruined my _life_! After you got that position, I was angry. I broke everything in those stupid military offices, every window, every phone-tore up every file! And then my 'superiors' got upset with me and discharged me from the military! Me! Someone who is destined to become a general! I'm supposed to become great and they _discharge_ me! Now I work at this shitty restaurant! And it's all because of _you_! " Once he was back on his feet, he stormed towards me, ramming into me and throwing me against the door. He presses his forearm against my throat, making it really hard to breath. I try to fight back, but he continues to press his entire weight against me. "I should be eating lunch with Chris Redfield. I should be his second-in-command. A _fag_ like you shouldn't have stood a _chance_!"

Suddenly, the door behind me shoves open, throwing us both on the ground. I land on top of Conrad, who pushes me off. We both look, myself gasping and coughing for breath. Standing there in his casual jeans and t-shirt is Chris, looking even more handsome as he glares down at Conrad.

"I had a feeling I'd find you back here." The usually calm and collected look in Chris' eyes was gone, replaced by a bitterness I hadn't seen before. He regarded Conrad before looking over at me-I was still trying to catch my breath and was embarrassed he was seeing me like that. After a moment of looking towards me, he paced forward, stopping when he stood in front of Conrad. "A friend of yours at the front told me you slipped a little note into Piers' meal just to get a rile out of him-trying to make him look bad in front of me. That's _exactly_ why I didn't pick you for the position as my second, Conrad." In an instant, Chris' strong hands swooped down and grabbed the collar of Conrad's shirt. He hoisted him up on his feet, holding him close and glaring daggers into the terrified man's eyes. "You don't care about anyone but yourself and, if someone gets in your way, you'll use every underhanded method to bring them down." For several seconds, they stared at each other, until Chris dropped one hand and rammed it into the side of Conrad's face. The man gave off a yelp, the brunette dropping him to the ground after that. "Try something like this again, Conrad, and you won't get off so easy."

He stepped over to me, helping me up. Giving me a warm smile, he guided me out of the restaurant. We reached the car and I unlocked it, slipping behind the wheel as Chris got on the other side. Closing the door in unison, I sucked in a deep breath and coughed it out.

"Sorry," was all he said, those intense brown eyes glancing towards me before they moved to the front window, "I should have followed after you sooner."

"No," I spoke, my voice a little horse, "It's okay. I should have told you about it instead of running of to go avenge my honor." I smirked before coughing again, feeling like my airways were finally opening up. The comment got a smile out of Chris too, who shifted in his seat so he could better look at me.

"I'm just glad you're alright." I just give him a simple smile. "Well, our little lunch date was ruined so…"

Lunch _date_? Had that been a slip of the tongue or was I just reading way too much into it? Probably reading too much into it. "So, what?"

"So, do you want to drive through somewhere? Maybe good old McNasties? Or there's always the King of the Burgers…?"

I couldn't help but smirk at him. "McNasties? You mean McDonalds? Sure, we can grab a burger and fries there." Putting my keys into the ignition, I rev the engine to life. My car hums quietly under me as I shift gears and start backing up. All the while I was smiling, the fact that Chris was so sweet and funny, so kind and loving, making it impossible for me to stop smiling. Hell, it made it impossible for me to stop loving him, too.

And the fact he'd called our little outing a 'date'!

It wasn't until Chris brought up his next comment that I stopped smiling, slamming on the breaks-which was thankfully in front of a red light so I didn't look like a complete idiot. "So," He;d said, keep his eyes straight ahead, "You've got a big day tomorrow, what with working with the team for the first time and getting to use the communal showers with me and the rest of the men..."

Wait!_ Communal_!

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Oh, I feel so devious ;)

The idea of the simulator was actually borrowed from a beautiful, wonderful, awesome (other adjectives that mean totally epic) fanfiction called "Both Sides of the Gun" by blindfoldedangel. If you're a Chris and/or Piers fan (which, honestly, who here isn't?), go check it out! It'll be worth your while!

Review!


	4. The Showers

For those of you who didn't notice, I've upped the rating to M. After reviewing the ratings chart and giving it some consideration, I bumped up the rating from T to M due to this chapter. Although I assume those of you who are reading this are mature and can handle sexual situations, I'll respect the rating system and FF and up the rating some.

Moving on from that. My god, this chapter is long! 16 pages on the word processor, making it the longest chapter to date. For those of you who love reading long chapters, you're welcome. And for those of you who like reading short chapters, well...I got nothin'. I want to thank you all for the reviews, favorites and follows! You guys are what inspire me to keep writing.

Anyway, enough sentimental crap. Enjoy the chapter!

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I knock on the thick oak door I'd walked by a dozen times, nearly fainting in front of, with a closed fist. It was late, but I knew the person in question was inside. He always seemed to stay later than everyone else. It didn't surprise me in the slightest, though, considering he was the head of Alpha Team and one of the founders of the BSAA. I waited for an affirmative sound before pushing the door open. Saluting quickly, I spoke, "Captain, you wanted to talk to me?"

He gave me a warm smile, one that caused my heart to leap into my throat. "Yes, come on in, Piers. I was just about to go looking for you." I closed the door behind myself as I took a seat, staring into the dark chocolate colored eyes of the man I so desperately wanted to bang. He finished scribbling what I suppose was his signature at the bottom of a document. Clicking the end of the pen, he put it aside and looked at me, fingers laced. "Thank you for coming so quickly, Piers."

"I figured if you were asking for me by name, it had to be important." Though, it still felt odd that he'd ask me to speak with him at such a late hour-hell, he was lucky I was even still at work and not home jerking off to the thought of him-but regardless, I'd come as quickly as I could.

Giving me another heart-stealing smile, he stood up and walked to the front of his desk, leaning against it coolly. God, he looked good. Dark suit top with a burgundy tie, dark wash skinny jeans wrapping themselves tightly around those-_god_-those muscles. He was smirking at me and I found myself blushing at that. God, had he seen I was checking him out? Was that what this was about? Maybe he'd noticed that I was taking far too much 'interest' in his 'packages' and wanted to confront me about it. I'm pretty sure I'd die if he did that, confronted me about it. Then I'd have to confess to everything–every pervy, dirty thought that'd gone through my head since day one. I wasn't ready to do that. Maybe I could fake my way out of this situation. Pretend to get a call from my mother, she's said my father is deathly ill and I need to rush to the hospital. Or my landlord's called, tells me I forgot to pay rent and if I don't pay it by the end of the day, he'll kick me out and I'll be forced to live on the streets.

My scheming comes to an end when Chris speaks, his attractive body still leaning against the desk-god, I'm jealous of that desk, "There's something I've been wanting to do for a while now, Piers. I think you've been wanting to do it, too…" He reaches up and starts undoing his tie. My heart hammers into my ribcage. I clamor for words but none come to me. Instead, I'm forced to watch in horror and pure pleasure and Chris slowly takes his clothes off in front of me, leaving his pants on-though undone, making it clear he _isn't_ wearing underwear. Pushing himself off the desk, he straddles my lap and suddenly I'm confronted with that chest. _God_, he looks better up close and personal. I don't hesitate as I take one of his nipples into my mouth. My arms wrap instinctively around his waist, pulling him closer. He smells clean, his body still slightly scented from after shave.

My mouth works its way to the other nipple and he lets out a moan, taking fistfuls of my hair as he leans his head back. He moans out my name, causing heat to ram into my already painfully erect member. I break away only to stain his perfectly sculpted chest with hot kisses. He moans again, low and throaty, causing me to push him off of me and onto the desk in front of us. Landing none too gracefully against the mess of papers and pens, Chris lets out a soft chuckle as I work to take my own clothes off, "Someone's excited about this." I give him a small glare, feeling heat rush up to tint my cheeks a brilliant red color. I hate that he can tell how desperate I've been for him just by my enthusiasm. Once my jacket and shirt are off, I begin to run my hands over his rock hard abs. I trace them gently, causing him to sigh. "God, Piers, you're hands feel so good…"

Feeling my ego swell-as well as something else-I hastily trace circles downwards, stopping just above his undone pants. My fingers loop around them, tugging them down. He hisses as his also very erect member is exposed to the crisp air as well as exposed to my viewing. I've been waiting a _really _long time to see this up close. God, I'd take it into my mouth in a heartbeat, but I don't want this to end that fast. I couldn't be sure if Chris was just releasing sexual tensions or if he was actually serious about me. Regardless of which it was, I wanted to savor every second of this little forbidden act. So I content myself with continuing my little circles, my fingers reaching his shaft and wrapping around it. Pumping it slightly, he bucks his hips into it, causing me to smile. "Moving like that makes you look desperate. Don't tell me it's been awhile since you've gotten any, Chris." I continue to pump him _very _slowly. God, I was getting harder by the second just _watching_ him writhe under my touch. He pants as I speed up my pace, causing him to grind against my fist even more. His fingers wrap around the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white.

"God, _Piers_, yes…" He's getting harder and is more than ready for his release. Stopping my handiwork, he gives off a small whimper, looking down at me as he huffs for air, "_Piers_…"

I give him a devious smirk, "Sorry Chris, but I want to hear you beg for it." Chris gives off a very sexy sigh of frustration. I'm completely in control of him, or at least I thought I was, until he sits up quickly, pushing me back into my chair. I nearly get whip lash as I slam against the pleather surface. He doesn't waste any time working my pants off, his eyes growing hungry when he catches sight of my fully erect member, already straining for release. I try to protest but the way he forcibly pulls my legs up and over his shoulders causes me to wince. I _do not_ bend that way.

Positioning himself at my tight entrance, he looks into my hazel eyes, "Piers, I've wanted to do this to your ass since I saw it in the _communal_ _showers_."

In an instant, everything fades away as I shoot up from my bed, sweat covering me from head to toe. I'm breathing hard, heart pounding in my chest a million miles a minute. Glancing over at my alarm clock, the time reads 2:14 in mocking red numbers. I don't even have to get up for another couple of hours. Once my heart rate drops back to normal, I flop back down on my pillows, feeling their moistness attack my skin. Suddenly, I'm _way_ to warm to sit still. Kicking off my sheets and getting out of bed, I head to the shower, noticing a pain between my legs that I was beginning to become accustomed too.

Ever since I'd first met Chris, I'd been infatuated with him. So much so, that I was having wet dreams about him-as embarrassing as it is to say. I'd already changed and washed my sheets several times since then, much to the suspicion of my neighbor, whom probably thinks I'm murdering people in my apartment.

Even if they're not wet dreams, I'm still sweating like a horse, causing my sheets to need the purification of my crap-brand laundry soap.

But this was the first time it'd ever ended with me jolting up from my _very_ good sleep in such a panic. I already knew what had caused such a stir in me-and not the good kind. Those communal showers. God, how was a gay man like me supposed to take a shower-_naked!_-with a bunch of other naked guys and not get a hard on-especially with Chris being one of those naked men. The moment I'm forced to go under the shower head is the moment they'll all know exactly what I'm into, and they'll probably hate me for it. They won't want to work with me, or talk to me. They won't want a gay guy who's always 'checking them out' around.

I twist on the shower, letting the water warm up. Striping down, I quickly step in and rid myself of my persisting heat. It doesn't take long, just a little bit of imagination and I'm feeling much more relaxed. Scrubbing my hair and body with different Axe scents, I rinse and turn the water off. As I step out, grabbing a towel and drying myself, I hear my cellphone give off a little tune. Raising my eyebrow, I head into my bedroom. It's unusual because nobody calls me this early in the morning, and my alarms aren't set to go off for another couple of hours. Glancing at the screen, I see a name that causes my heart to skip a beat.

Chris.

A million things rush through my mind as I debate with myself about answering it. Finally summoning up the courage, I flip it open and speak up, "This is Piers Nivans."

"Hey Piers," Chris' rich as honey voice plays over the electronic waves, tickling my ears and something a lot lower. "Sorry to call at such a strange time."

"No, it's ok," I say, toweling off the rest of my body, "I was up anyway."

Chris sounds curious, "Really? Why?"

I freeze, unable to come up with a good excuse. Should I admit to my fears-leave out the being gay part and just tell him I'm way too shy to take a shower with a group? Then his voice comes over the phone again, "Are you nervous about meeting the team?" The teasing tone causes me to give off a small chuckle.

"You got me there. I want them to like me," I easily lie, hoping against hope he can't hear my heart breaking my rib cage in half. "I couldn't sleep so I got up. Just got done with a shower, actually." Why the hell had I included that bit of information? It wasn't like he was interested in that kind of crap. Feeling a blush cross my cheeks at my utterly stupid choice of conversation, I couldn't help but remember what my sister had told me time and time before.

_You're such a girl, Piers…_

"Well, just try and relax, Piers. They'll love you as much as I do." What was that supposed to mean? As I dry off the last bit of me, I sit down on my bed, the sheets still moist from my dream.

Before I can think it over, I speak, "Chris, are any of the men gay?" Instantly, I realize how it sounds, "N-Not that I'm looking or anything, I'm _totally_ into _women_, you know. I'm just _curious_ is all…" Worst. Recovery. Ever.

"Gay? I don't think so. They all like talking about boobs too much. But, I suppose it's always possible. Why?"

"_Curious_," I say it way to fast. I force myself to speak more intently and less like I'm frantically trying to cover up a murder, "It's just that, if one of them _happens_ to be gay, I wanted to talk to him individually. You know, let him know it's all cool with me and stuff…" Still. Worst. Recovery. Ever.

There's an impossibly long pause on the other side of the line, causing my breath to hitch. Was he on to me? Did he know my secret, one I'd kept hidden for so long? When he spoke, my heart stopped beating, "Piers, are you ok? You sound really…weird."

"I'm fine, Chris. Really. It's just nerves." For a single moment, I consider hanging up on him. At this point, the only thing I could do is _more_ damage to myself. But I stop myself from flipping the small device closed. If I hung up, he'd know there was something strange going on with me. Better to try and fight it head on. "I swear."

I hear him give a sigh, "If you're sure. You just sound so frantic."

Shit. I mentally scold myself for my quick and breathy answers and then I mentally scold him for being so observant. For a guy who claims to have the emotional aptitude of a rock, he sure was good at spotting odd behavior. "Yes, I'm fine. Thanks for the concern, though."

"Alright, if you insist."

Moving the subject in a 'not Piers Nivans' direction, I ask, "So why'd you call anyway?" I glance again at my clock, the angry red numbers telling me its 2:36. Honestly, I was at a complete loss of what his answer might be. Usually, I can tell by the way they start off the conversation. People always have this habit of saying what they want without actually saying it. Chris was a different story, though. Maybe it's because I don't know him very well, outside of the things I'd learned on our date yesterday.

"Me? Oh, well, I was at the gym and decided to call. It's always lonely here this early."

"Oh really?" That answer was more than suspicious, "What are you doing? Lifting weights?"

"Yup. How else do you think I keep my arms so big and beautiful?"

He's lying-terrible at it, too. He didn't sound out of breath, nor did he ever make any kind of strained noise over the phone. Lifting as much as he can lift-which is 300 pounds, not that I stalk him around the gym or anything-I should have heard _something_ by now. Of course, the dilemma is do I call him out on it? I was 900 percent sure he was lying and yet, if he wasn't? And, maybe I call him out and he calls me out too. Both are bad situations I don't want to find myself in. Sucking in a silent breath, I ask, "So, why are you working out so early then? If you're lonely, shouldn't you wait until normal people are up and working out? You wouldn't be lonely then."

"Yah, maybe I should." He states simply. "I guess I'll do the rest of my workout when you get here, with everyone else too."

I blame my over reactive heart, but it almost seems like he paused at the very end, tying on that last part. Feeling stupid I'm reacting in such a way, I smile into the phone, "Alright then, we can finish it together. Go home and get some rest. I'll see you in a couple of hours." My heart races as I wait for his response.

"Alright, can't wait. I'll see you then." With that, he hung up and I slowly closed my phone. I let it fall onto my bedspread along with me, eyes travelling to the darkened ceiling. My heart is still rapid firing but I don't care. Even if it was just a moment, he seemed like he actually might sort of, in a way, _like_ me. Smiling in the darkness, I lived in that moment, _my_ moment, until I drifted back into sleep, not even caring I was still completely naked.

I didn't dream in that time, though I did feel like I was swimming through a pool of ecstasy. It wasn't until my alarm clock buzzed to life, the pop station it was set to play screaming out some Katy Perry song or another. Lazily I sat up, feeling cold, and clicked the alarm off. Standing and stretching, I hesitated as I looked down at myself, the dream I'd had last night came rushing through the fog of my early morning brain.

Communal Showers. I'd have to face those today.

My stomach sank into my intestines and I suddenly wanted to throw up. Sucking in a deep breath, I got myself dressed and headed into the kitchen. Brewing up some coffee in my overly large coffee pot, I grabbed an apple and munched on it, throwing some toast in the toaster. It didn't take long for it to pop up. Biting into the apple and holding it in place, I grabbed a cheap knife from its drawer and grabbed the peanut butter too. In another moment, my toast was ready and my coffee was bubbling. Quickly, I poured some into a travel mug and turned the thing off. Gathering my breakfast in my hands and making sure I'd grabbed the right set of keys-I've got _way_ to many sets of keys for my own good-and headed out the door.

My usual morning routine went without any kind of disruption. Traffic was predictable and I was only flipped off twice for cutting people off. My breakfast was finished by the time I'd reached the building, save my coffee as it's always too hot, and the spot I always park in was open. Pulling in and getting out, I make it to the training hall without any delay. Each step though caused the limited food in my stomach to churn. The thought-which I'd tried to drown out with hard rock music-crept back inside my head. Communal showers. This would be the day I, Piers Nivans, died. Everyone would know what I'd kept secret for so long-even from my family. They'd all figure it out, hate me, tell everyone else, then everyone else would hate me, and my life would be ruined.

As I stepped into the hall leading to the locker room, I could hear the voices of men. They were laughing-someone _obviously_ said something funny-and a couple were throwing in their two cents. The word 'vagina' came across my ears loud and clear. _God_, I'm going to die. No doubt they're the most macho of men; ones who'd know a gay man from a mile away-and they'd probably laugh at him too. High school instantly came to mind, images of Kale Parker and his band of pricks tormenting me because they 'thought' I was gay-which was actually true, Kale just never knew it. Sucking in a breath yet again, I summoned up every last bit of courage inside of me and I walked into the room.

Everyone went silent. Dead silent, as in so silent even the dead made more noise than they did. A dozen pairs of eyes were looking at me, _dissecting_ me. The coffee in my hand, which was originally making it warm, suddenly felt as cold as ice. My entire body went numb and I got the sudden urge to flee.

Maybe I'd walked into the wrong locker room.

Attempting what I hoped looked like a smile, I spoke, "Hi, um, you're Alpha Team, right?" Not a single person moved, their eyes still glued on me. Every nerve in my legs made to run, but not a one of them moved. I was clusterphobic and having trouble breathing. The rooms temperature had sky rocketed to dangerous heights and I was beginning to break a sweat.

Finally, one of them twitched a nod, though his eyes never left my frozen figure, "That's right. We're Alpha." More silence, "Who are you?"

"P-Piers Nivans, the new Second-in-Command."

In that instant, they're all surrounding me and I _really_ feel like I'm unable to breath. I shift my head around, looking at all of the men. I held back my fear, trying to relax and look a lot more like I had a clue what I was doing and less like I was absolutely terrified. Their eyes are still on me, even at this close proximity, and I can feel myself tremble. The one that'd spoken before speaks up again, his baritone voice filling the room, "The new Second, huh? The Captain mentioned you, said you're a good shot."

"The best shot, actually, or at least that's what I was told in the military." God, did that sound conceded? I think it did…

A different one, one with a lighter voice and a smaller frame, "You said Nivans, right? Piers Nivans?"

"That's right…Is it possible for you to give me a little space here?" They'd move uncomfortably close-definitely popped my bubble, there-and my mentioning so only made them scoot in closer. I was feeling sheer panic then, every part of me ready to fight them off-or, more realistically, let them beat the crap of out of me since there's more of them-at a moment's notice. Just when I think they can't possibly get any closer, the familiar sound of that sweet and chocolaty voice fills my ears.

"Hey guys, back up. Give the newbie some space."

I turn to see none other than Chris Redfield, saving the day-and my life-again. I nearly run up to him and hug him, I'm so happy, but I reserve myself, feeling much better now that the team has backed off a little.

The baritone speaks, "Sorry captain, you know initiation." The others laugh, making the room feel less suffocating.

Chris just gives him that signature smile of his, "I know, I know, you boys and your 'trails'. So, have you thought of his initiation challenge yet?"

What! A challenge? And my Chris is in on it too? Suddenly, my mind is swimming with very _delicious _possibilities, such as the entire team strapping me down to one of those benches and having their way with me, Chris taking the lead. Heat rushes to my face and I try to cover it. Now was not the time to be fantasizing about Chris fucking the crap out of me. Imagining the way those muscles would move as he rammed into me was-shit, I was doing it again.

"Not yet, captain," the softer voiced one replied. "We were talking about it before he showed up."

Wait. They'd been talking about vagina's before I showed up. I shake the terrible thoughts out of my head, speaking in my defense, "Wait, no one said anything about initiation."

"Oh, it's good, clean fun, Piers. Trust me." Chris grins at me and I'm inclined to believe him. "I don't let the men get carried away."

"Right," I speak non-chalantly, sipping at my coffee to help cover the blush appearing on my face again.

The baritone voice smiles at me, "Sorry to scare you like that. I'm Lexington, by the way." He sticks out a large hand and I take it, shaking it once solidly. "The captain has said nothing but good things about you. I'm looking forward to working with you out on the field."

"Same." I smile back, the hammering panic in my heart ebbing away.

The other steps up, nodding politely, "I'm Marcus. It's nice to meet you."

Returning the greeting, the rest of the team fell in line, introducing themselves. Surprisingly, none of them appear hostile to me. I'd expected a negative reaction to my presence, like the one I'd gotten upon joining the military. The people of my unit didn't like that I had no previous military training and it wasn't until I'd proven to them I was just as capable as they were that they accepted me. Maybe these guys weren't as bad as I'd thought after all.

Chris' sexy voice interrupts my thoughts, "Alright men, now that you've met Piers, let's get suited up." It was like a hurricane passed through the BSAA locker room as every single man, Chris included, stripped off their clothes at once, revealing way more skin than I could possibly look at. I could only stand and stare as my eyes went _straight_ between Chris' legs. My face turned cherry red as I looked at his boxers. They were navy, nothing special adorning them, but _god_; I could tell he was huge. Instantly, something went stiff in my pants-which were thankfully still on, by the way-and the red hue on my face increased. Damn, it getting hot in there. Forcing my legs to work, I marched over to my locker, which happened to be close to Marcus', and began undressing, all the while having the hardest time getting the buttons of my shirt and pants undone. My fingers felt thick and clammy as a pair of underwear shot past my face quickly followed by Chris' disapproving voice. It took every ounce of my self-respect not to look around for the well toned, well tanned body that that underwear had been previously upon and instead busy myself with getting my uniform on.

Much to my relief, none of the other men bothered with teasing me. Apparently, they felt like they'd scared me enough with the first stunt they'd pulled. I was extremely grateful for their lack of interest in me as I closed my locker up and twisted the combination lock once. I grabbed my coffee, which I'd sat down on the bench behind me and had somehow survived the onslaught of several pieces of discarded clothing, and drank deeply from it. Setting it down, I could see several of the men begin to make their way out of the locker room and towards the chamber I'd been in the other day. I knew it was more important than ever that I not get distracted by Chris and proved to these men that I was deserving of my rank. Following after, we entered the large, white room and the door closed off behind us. Suddenly the white disappeared, revealing a forested area with such a high humidity, I was beginning to sweat. The men and I rounded up around Chris to listen to our orders.

"Alright men," he spoke, "I need everyone to focus today. No horsing around. Today we're up against some rather nasty creatures, called Reapers. Shoot at their centers, there's a white spot under their shell, but keep your distance. If they get a hold of you with their claws," he made a motion with his thumb over his throat, "Its game over." We all nodded. "I'll take the lead, Piers, you take up the rear. Lexington and Marcus, you take point on either side. Stay sharp men, there's bound to be infected here as well."

"What's our objective?" Marcus asked, raising his hand.

Chris' sexy voice was heavy when he spoke, "The same objective we've always got," he cocks his semi-automatic handgun, looking like he's straight out of a movie trailer, "Terminate the BOWs and reach the rendezvous." With that, the men fell into formation and I took my place at the rear. Fear rose up inside of me as we started walking. I wasn't exactly sure what he'd meant when he said there was the possibility of 'infected' being here. And the description of these 'reaper' things was less than pretty. What exactly was it I was going to be facing? I'd just assumed that it was more of what I'd seen with my military unit, terrorists. But that didn't feel right. It felt like it was something completely different.

We walked carefully through the forest regardless of my feelings, everyone cautiously moving about. I could see Chris ahead of me, pulling out his phone and clicking the side of it. A small, hued green arrow appeared before him, pointing to the right. Needless to say I was impressed by this type of technology. I hadn't seen it before. Even the military didn't have anything that technologically savvy. We followed the arrow, turning to the right and pushing past some foliage. Before us was a large opening, the hushed and muted greens circled overhead as the large, thick trunks closed us in. It looked like a dead end. Had that arrow led us in the wrong direction?

The captain-_God_, Chris looked _so_ _damn_ _sexy_ in his uniform-glared at the natural walls around him and clicked at the device again. It showed the arrow again, its dim green light nearly invisible in the surrounding greenery. I frown a little, looking at Chris and then at the others. They look just as confused.

Its then that the most terrifying moment of my life happens.

I turned around to glance back at the way we'd come in and there, not even an inch from my face, is a rotting, half-gone _human_ face. One eye, red and pussy, hangs freely from its socket, the pink nerves behind it the only thing keeping it attached to the decaying man's head. He gives off a throaty moan, one that's covered by my less-than-manly screams. The next thing I know I've collapsed to the ground, a brief flash of white covering my vision as the sound of gunfire echoes above me.

It doesn't take me long to back up, dragging myself as far as the thick trunks before I finally stop. My breath is heavy as it enters and exits my lungs, but freezes when a hand cold and clammy hand lands on my shoulder. I twirl my head around, coming face to face with yet another rotting man's lipless snarl. Giving off another still-less-than-manly scream, I throw myself up and back up quickly, running into someone and stumbling to the ground.

Chris' voice comes from beneath me and instantly I'm hard. Worst. Timing. Ever. He pushes me off of him, leveling his gun at the freak coming through the trees. In one quick, well placed shot, the back of the decaying thing's head explodes in a flurry of red, and the gunfire around me ceases.

Several intents moments of silence pass before I hear Chris snort out a chuckle. Throwing him a glare, I see his lips pursed together in a tight, straight line, forbidding any kind of sound to escape. But it proves useless. He cracks up, busting into a bright fit of laughter, the rest of the men following his example. My cheeks turn several shades redder as I stumble to my feet and dust myself off. "W-what's so funny…" I squeak.

Chris topples over, falling to the ground with his arms wrapped tightly around his gut. He was obviously enjoying this _way_ too much. "What?" I speak again, this time with a little more authority in my voice.

"God…Piers," the sexy brunette chokes out between laughs, "I've never-god, I've never seen _anyone_ react like that." He coughs, oxygen much needed in his lungs. Sucking in a deep breath, he chuckles laughing some more, thankfully with far less intensity than it'd been. "Every new member reacts differently to zombies, and god, you were hilarious!"

Marcus popped in, "That scream! The set of lungs you've got to have." He snorted out another giggle, barely keeping himself standing.

"And damn, you're like a fucking torpedo." Lexington spoke, nudging Marcus in the side, "Did you see how fast he moved. Just, _pew_, and he was on the other side of the clearing!"

If it was even possible to feel more embarrassed at that moment, I felt it. My cheeks were burning and all I wanted to do was curl up and die. Zombie? Was this some kind of prank? How had they expected me to react when coming face to face with the undead? I can't even muster up a single word in my defense. Instead, I'm forced to listen to the teams unending laughter. It takes everything I've got to keep myself planted where I was and not march away like a child with a tantrum.

Chris finally calms down enough to talk, sitting up from the fetal position he'd been crippled into, "I'm sorry, Piers. Normally, I get the chance to brief newbies on everything the BSAA does, including infected and BOWs."

Lexington remarked, "Of course, that doesn't mean they're any less freaked out when they see one up close. My first time was horrible. I couldn't even muster up the strength to move…and I wet myself." He smiled at the terribly embarrassing memory. "And Marcus, god, you should have seen him. He fainted!" He smacked his friend on the back, the man sending Lexington a mock glare.

The other team mates nodded and spoke, bringing up their 'first time' as they'd lovingly named it. I didn't speak a word through the whole thing, listening to other embarrassing stories of how people reacted to these 'zombies'. After story time was over, Chris pulled me aside to have a word with me privately. He explained everything in short, sweet sentences-most of which I missed given the proximity of our bodies and how attractive those lips looked as they moved. Something about people getting sick and turning into zombies. Whatever it was, he said he'd give me the full briefing later, sometime when we weren't on the simulated battle front. I nodded and he placed a hand on my shoulder. Giving me a smile, one that dropped my pulse to zero, he turned and headed back to the front of the group. I took my position at the rear, feeling a little more confident when we encountered more of the undead creatures. We even came face to face with a giant, black grasshopper I was able to shoot down perfectly-despite the disgust and absolute terror that filled my veins.

We were approaching the rendezvous and I could tell the men were getting excited. They kept their wits about them, especially when the little arrow showed that a dilapidated building was the extraction point. "I don't trust it," I heard Chris mutter. "Piers, use those scopes and take a look at the windows and around the building. Marcus, Lexington, I want you to circle around and scan the perimeter for anything suspicious. This is _way_ too easy."

I watched as the other two did as they were instructed. Quickly, I pulled my sniper into my arms, gazing through the scope. Every detail in the wall came out brilliantly and I skimmed the broken windows and fractured doorways for any sign of intruders. Had something moved? I zoomed in even more on the dark corner of a rather large room, but only saw the empty, dirty walls. "There's nothing, Captain."

I heard him give a hum of approval and I brought my sights around, scanning for anything else that might be lurking. Of course, as luck would have it, I froze mid motion as my scope landed on something rather interesting.

Chris' ass.

There it was, magnified and glorious. I clicked in another couple of inches, his ass moving even closer. God, it was _fine_. Even in the heavy clothing it was perfectly round, perfectly molded as if a God himself had crafted it. Every bit of my skin tingled as my terribly sweet imagination began crafting images of me scissoring that delicious ass, or, even better, possibly plunging into it myself. He'd be begging me to do it, too. Those chocolate brown eyes pleading as his mouth formed a perfect 'o' when I entered into him. He'd hiss my name sharply with each thrust, moan loudly when I finally hit the spot of his greatest pleasure. God, the very thought was making it _way_ too hot under my uniform.

"Hey Piers, what are you doing?" Chris' question immediately slapped me back down to reality.

"N-nothing captain, I was just…checking my scopes. Yup, they seem to be working wonderfully. No problem here." I dropped the sniper from my eye, turning my head to examine the foliage around me instead of looking at Chris' no doubt confused face.

"Captain," Marcus' voice takes Chris' attention off of me, "We searched and couldn't find anything."

My Chris seemed less than settled with the news but he nodded. "Alright, let's move in. But be on the lookout." With that, we all headed inside, our boots making heavy prints in the thick dust. I gazed around carefully, eyes drifting to every dark corner and every dim hallway. I could feel my heart beating in my ears as we pushed past another broken down door and into yet another dirty, empty room. We reached the rendezvous without any trouble, and Chris radioed for 'help'. "T-minus 5 minutes until extraction."

We stood on guard, everyone pointing their guns in a circle. It was the best planned extraction I'd ever seen, and this was only in make-believe. I'd been part of teams who, once extraction was called, they'd stand around and pick their noses until help arrived. They weren't prepared for any attackers and, thankfully, only once had that proven fatal to someone. With a minute left to go, I could feel the men getting antsy. They wanted this to be over just as much as I did-save I'd rather take million more zombie missions over what was about to come.

From the corner of my eye I saw something move in the darkness, just like I'd seen when looking through my scope. I twisted my gun in its direction. I scanned the darkness for any kind of sign, but there wasn't one. Had I been seeing things? Chris' voice broke through my concentration, "Piers?"

Turning my head to look at him, my eyes landed not on him but on what stood behind him. A large black creature, haze drifting around its ugly form. It raised up its large claws, ready to give Chris a deadly embrace. In the matter of a second my gun was up, "Get down!" The captain didn't even bother to turn around, dropping to the ground as my finger pulled the trigger. In that instant, the distinct sound of a bullet tearing through flesh and bone entered my ears and the creature staggered back. It's white center was pouring out pools of dark liquid and it gave off a withering cry before falling to the ground dead.

Standing and staring around me were the other men, each gawking in surprise. I lowered my gun, breathing heavily.

Chris stands slowly, breathing out a 'damn' as the help arrives and the simulated background fades into nothing more than the bleak, white walls. I reach out a hand to help Chris the rest of the way up, "Are you ok?"

"Piers, that shot was amazing…" As he balanced himself on his feet, he grinned at me, "I knew you had skill but not _that_ kind of skill. The reaper hides its weak spot unless it's been badly damaged or it's about to strike. You made one hell of a shot back there."

I can't keep my lips from forming a smile, "Thanks Chris. It wasn't hard, though. I was just doing what needed to be done to protect you, is all."

I heard a loud whistle from Lexington, "No wonder the captain kept calling you the BSAA's best sniper." I smiled softly, feeling honored that Chris was talking about me so fondly-and probably off duty, which obviously meant he was thinking about me after hours. "Come on, let's get changed and get this bastard drunk!" The group gave off a resounding cheer and I chuckled. No, I'm not much of a drinker but getting drunk with a bunch of attractive guys sounded good to me. Of course, that was assuming I'd survive what was about to follow.

Exiting the simulation room, we reached the locker room which quickly steamed itself into a sauna. The constant pit-pat of water against tile caused my stomach to churn as I slowly undressed myself. The euphoria of the previous moments had all but vanished from my system as my mind played at the very _real_ possibility that my well-kept secret would be blown today-and not _blown_ in a good way. Pulling off my sweat covered jacket, I slopped it onto the bench behind me. I placed a booted foot on the edge of the bench and dared to look up from where my eyes had been diligently watching my hands untie my boot strings. All around me were men-very _sexy_ men. Some were still removing their clothes, peeling them off in a sensual sort of strip-tease. Others were already as naked as the day they were born-though far more endowed from then-and were slapping towels around and heading to the showers. Others were dripping wet, their bodies shining in the dim locker lights. I regretted looking up. My greedy eyes ate at every little bit of skin I could manage to see and all of that rammed straight into my groin. I was painfully hard in the matter of a couple of minutes of observing the men and their tight, tough bodies.

Dropping my gaze, I busied myself with undoing this godforsaken boot. It'd suddenly become extremely difficult to untie the stupid thing, though I couldn't-wouldn't admit to it-figure out why. As I fiddled with the knot, something very naked appeared in front of me and as I looked up, it took every ounce of willpower that exists within me to keep my eyes from lingering on the delicious piece of man-candy dangling between his legs. Chris smirked down at me, "Hey Piers."

I thanked whoever was in the great universe for the heat. My blush could easily be blamed on the moister and humidity permeating the air. "Captain Chris…" I breathed. I hated how breathless I sounded, like I'd just come off running a 10 mile marathon.

"Does it really take you this long to undo you shoes?"

"The knot is really hard-uh, tight, I mean, I can't untie it…" Chris bent down, placing those large hands on my boots, and quickly undid what I'd been fiddling with for the past few minutes. I couldn't help but stare at what was dangling there, open to the air and to my sight. God, it was ridicules how hard it was making me and all he had to do was _stand_ there.

"There. Need me to get the other one?" Numbly, I nodded, switching which foot was propped on the bench. My eyes stared down, soaking up every last inch of his naked frame. When he finished, he stood, knocking me out of my stupor. "There you go." He gave me a smile, one that I barely registered as I looked his chest up and down. God, it was even dreamier in person. My constant vision of his naked body were _not even close_ to how damn sexy he looked! I finally managed to force myself back to his eyes, a knowing smirk covering that handsome face. "You like what you see?"

I squeaked out what was supposed to be an intelligent reply, my face dyeing itself several shades redder than it already was. God, he knew, didn't he? I didn't even have to be naked for him to tell. Stupid, stupid eyes! I considered just dropping on my knees and groveling, begging him to forgive me for being so openly gay for him. Of course, that idea quickly went bad when I imagined grabbing that strong, thick member and shoving it into my mouth. Then I considered confessing-standing upright this time-and asking him to not be mad. The smile that cracked over his face told me all of my fretting wasn't necessary, though.

"I'm used to being stared at, Piers. Go ahead and take a look." He flexed those beautiful arm muscles and the team erupted into cheers and hoots. "I'm built, I'm sexy, and I know it." He gave me a wink-probably completely unaware of how much it stole my heart-and flexed his muscles again. More cheering and hollering before Chris gave off a small chuckle. "Come on and get naked, Piers. We've got to get you drunk!" The men gave off a resounding call as more of them stripped off their clothes and marched into the showers.

I stepped back, immediately feeling suffocated My pants were the only thing left clinging to my sweat covered body and I couldn't bring myself to take them off, especially with Chris standing right in front of me just _waiting_ for me to do it. If I did, he'd see just how much I _liked what I _saw. By seeing how I felt, he'd surely hate me. He'd tell everyone, too. My worst nightmares would come true and I couldn't let that happen. Surprisingly, he must have sensed something was wrong because he leaned closer to me and spoke softly, "Piers, is everything ok?"

Shaking my head absently, I didn't say anything back. God, this was just too much. Stepping past him and past the bench, I exited the room quickly, entering the cool hall and disappearing down the corridors. Scolding myself for leaving and looking like a complete idiot-and for feeling like crying. I hunkered down behind a protruding air conditioning unit and curled my knees close to my body. I needed some time to think. Leaning my bare back against the cool stone, I welcomed the relief from the heat. Maybe being away from all of the exposed testosterone would do me some good mentally.

I'd never had this kind of trouble in the military. Showers were divided by curtains and, though they were small, it gave me enough privacy to not feel threatened. I thought it'd always be like that for me and now…well, now I was stuck having to undress in front of everyone and bathe in front of them as well. They're guys and guys, well, like to compare sizes. I wasn't sure why any man would want to look at another man's junk-unless they were like me, of course. Shaking my head, I couldn't afford to let my mind drift now. Bringing my knees closer to my chest, I buried my face in them, letting out a long and tired sigh.

The shuffling of feet came beside me, causing me to look up. Chris was standing there, his pants pulled on haphazardly and his hair a mess of moist clumps of brown. He was peering down at me and I tucked my head back into my knees, "I'm sorry." I spoke, feeling even more ashamed now that he'd found me. I had to look like a fool.

"No, Piers." He spoke, his words hushed and husky, "I'm sorry."

Not wanting to leave the security of my knees, I didn't raise my head, but I did send a curious glance up towards him, peaking through the loose strands of my hair. Chris scratched absently at the back of his head, looking to the side with a bit of discomfort, "I shouldn't have teased you like I did. Truth be told, most of the other men, when I do that, join in and play along. Of course, I've noticed that you're not as rambunctious as those other men…"

It was true. I'd always been better fitted in the 'strong and silent type' category. I kept to myself-mostly because of my shyness. Lifting my head, I looked straight into his eyes. They carried a sympathy that was remarkable to me. He looked sincere about his apology to me, something I rarely see with military grade men. They're all like my father, rough and tough and anti-feelings. Sometimes I forget that, underneath it all, there's a human being who can be just as hurt by actions as anyone else. I guess this was one of those times.

Chris slid down the wall in front of me, seating himself on the ground with his legs crossed. "Piers, it's okay to feel uncomfortable." This got my direct attention. I was staring at him now, honestly curious at what he'd say next. "Back in my youth-which was a _long_ time ago-I was a member of a police group known as STARS. It was the first time I'd ever had to use communal showers and, to tell you the truth, I was terrified." A smile crossed his face as some memory or another floated to the surface of his mind, "I mean, I left the PD smelling like sweat and shit every day for a month. I would have kept it up, too, but then I really started to get to know the team and suddenly, I wasn't embarrassed anymore." He gives me this breath taking smile, the most sincere smile I'd ever seen in my entire life.

"Piers," he spoke, leaning in some, "I understand that it's hard to undress in front of so many strangers. You don't know them and you don't trust them. So it's okay to give it some time, to just hang around until the mass has moved on. That's fine."

Sucking in a deep breath, I let it out slowly, halfway considering just letting out my feelings right there. He's just so damn romantic, even without realizing it. He cares about me! Was concerned for me! God, no one had _ever_ acted that way for me before. If he'd ask me to fuck him, I'd do it in a heartbeat. If he asked me to date him-_ooh_ _god_, I wouldn't even be able to think. He's so fucking perfect.

I need to do it. I need to confess. It'll make everything easier for both of us. I won't feel like a swooning teenage girl and he won't have to feel like I'm keeping secrets from him. Regardless of if he accepts my feelings or not, I need to tell him. At the very least, I'll put my heart on the table and, on the very, very, _very_ off chance that he's fallen for me too, he can confess his feelings too.

Staring intently in his eyes, I breathe deeply and let it out slowly. My heart's treating my rib cage like a batting cage and I'm scared that he can hear it. Forcing myself to remember to breathe, I open my mouth to speak. This was the moment. I was finally going to speak my peace-and then Lexington called down the hall and startled me out of my courage.

"Hey," he calls like there _isn't_ a life changing conversation going on, "Hurry up! I want to get wasted!"

Chris smirks, "We're coming, geez! It's not like they're going to run out of alcohol! Besides, it's noon! Normal people don't get wasted in the early afternoon!"

Lexington retorted, "I never claimed to be normal!"

He shakes his head and that devilishly handsome face turns towards me with a smooth smile running across those thin, delicious lips. "Well, that probably means the men have cleared out. Ready to get clean?"

Sufficing it to a simple nod, I stand up and walk with Chris to the locker room. As we enter the significantly empty room, moister still high and the sound of pounding water droplets still present, I looked over at my Chris and mentally berated myself for _almost_ confessing. What was I _thinking_? I wasn't thinking, plain and simple. I could see Chris pulling off his pants-which was _extremely_ arousing, let me just say- and stepping his way into the shower room. Heaving a sigh, I delicately stripped myself the rest of the way, feeling my blush cover every inch of skin. Closing my eyes, I prepared myself for whatever was to follow. No matter what I saw, I was. Not. Going. To. Look. Down. Even just the _sight_ of another naked man would make me stiff as a board. I needed to focus and find my happy place-the one that _wasn't_ sexual.

In five steps I covered the distance between me and the showering room, only Chris and another man-Jeff-were there. They stood far away from each other, both minding their own business. Stepping in and sticking to my resolve, I dipped my body and head under the warm water of the shower head. It felt _fantastic_. All of the stress and sweat washed off of my body and down the drain. Running my hands through my wet locks, I scrubbed my scalp clean of any excess oils.

Not long after, I was out of the shower and changing into street clothes. I put on a healthy dose of cologne and deodorant before combing my hair and adding a squirt of gel to it, styling it perfectly without the use of a mirror-something I'd learned to do out of necessity during my years in the military. The entire affair had been _a lot_ simpler than I'd thought it'd be. Here I'd been making a fuss about it, even waking up in the middle of the night to a wonderful dream turned nightmare, and it'd been as easy as stepping in, staying focused and stepping out. As silly as it was, I felt a small sense of pride in the fact I'd accomplished such a task. Standing there, straightening out my clothes for the final time, I heard Chris come up behind me. "Ready to go drink away your health?" I turned to see that beautiful smirk across his face.

"I guess so." I gave him my best smile. I felt like I could take over the world after conquering those showers, so a couple of shots of hard tequila would be cake comparatively. "As long as I'm not buying."

"We'll pay for you this go around, but don't get used to it. Now come on." Chris reached out, grabbing a hold of my hand, and dragged me out of the locker room. It didn't even matter that I nearly stumbled over myself and hit the floor. It didn't even matter that I'd forgotten to grab my coffee mug or my keys. Chris was holding my hand. He was holding _my_ hand. And I'd never felt anything better.


	5. The Apartment

A/N: Well, my friends, this is it. The last chapter of Piers' Lament. It feels like only yesterday I was working on the first chapter and wondering if it would do well with the Nivanfield fans. Now, we're here at the last chapter of this little ficlet and I have all of you wonderful readers joining me for this final moment. Though this is the last chapter of Piers' Lament, there will be a one-shot published on July 1st called Piers' Final Lament (July 1st is his official death date, and as the title sounds, it promises to be sad). It will be independent from this fanfiction because I agree with so many of the reviewers, that part of what makes this story so wonderful is it's lighthearted tone. I don't want to ruin that by posting an extremely depressing last chapter on it, so it will be posted independently. So, follow me if you want to receive a notice in your inbox or just make sure to check back on July 1st for the final installment.

Also, I would like to invite those of you who haven't read my latest Nivanfield fic, Under Fire, to do so. If you've enjoyed Piers' Lament, you'll definitely enjoy Under Fire. So go to my profile and click on the link for it. You won't be disappointed!

Thank you to all of those who reviewed, followed, or favorited! You guys and gals are awesome!

Without further delay, the final chapter of Piers' Lament! Enjoy!

* * *

The bar is farther than I thought it would be, a small neon sign in the middle of a beaten up, over-industrialized part of downtown. There isn't anyone inside in the mid-afternoon, save a few patron drunks taking shots of whiskey to prep themselves for the damage to come later that night; they just give us a half-hearted glance before turning back to their drinks. The staff, on the other hand, looks less than thrilled at the group of rowdy BSAA soldiers sauntering in.

Lexington gives a whistle to the bar tender as he takes a seat at one of the booths, "A round of your hardest stuff for the boys and me! We're celebrating!" The man behind the counter nods unenthusiastically before counting heads and pulling glasses, filling them with a frothy beverage and having a middle aged woman bring them out to all of us. I feel really bad for her considering she has to deal with all of them. They'd given me such a rough start to my first day, what with the stare down and the laughing at my _completely_ rational reaction to the undead. They're not sparing her any joking, either, at least not until Chris puts a stop to it with a quick, stern glare.

I take a seat next to Chris, my heart hammering away in my chest as he gives me a warm smile, "Don't look so nervous," he says like it should be _really_ easy for me to calm my nerves when looking into those dark, chocolaty eyes, "I won't let these guys get _too_ wasted."

"Thanks." That's not what I'm worried about, actually. I couldn't care less if the men get themselves so drunk that 'no' becomes 'hell yes' and bar stools become women. I'm more worried about myself. It's not that I'm a light weight, because that's _definitely_ not true. I've handled kegs and funnels before, _believe_ me, and I've played more than my fair share of beer pong. It's more that I'm absolutely terrified I'll loosen up and say something I shouldn't. Namely about a certain crush on a certain BSAA captain who is totally straight and definitely not looking for a relationship with a man. At first, a drink sounded good, but then I remembered how loose tongued I can be after a bit of the hard stuff. Just looking at Chris tells me all I need to know about his alcohol tolerance. I can sum it up in one word even.

Indestructible.

He's freaking huge, and in more ways than one, even if _some_ of those ways don't count towards his tolerance level. He could down every last hard bottle in this bar and still not feel anything. Powerhouses like him? They're the kinds of people you _never_ get into a drinking contest with.

Finally, one of the cups is placed in front of me, the foam on top starting to seep over the glass. I raise a cautious eyebrow at it, glancing over at Chris, "So what exactly is this?" I'd never seen this kind of drink before. It isn't dark enough to be beer-not that the bartender would be serving beer to us in glasses-and it isn't clear enough to be vodka or any of its sister drinks. Chris, with that damn handsome face and those ever so kissable lips, just smiles at me.

"Try it."

"No," I hear Lexington call, "Chug it!" A resounding call comes from every BSAA soldier and I give a nervous smile, shaking my head weakly. As if that were their cue, they begin chanting a word I've heard so many times before.

"Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!" The clap of noise continues, even the other patrons joining in with a drunken slur. Damn it, I've never been good with peer pressure. One drink won't get me _too_ buzzed. I _should_ be fine. Taking ahold of the wet glass, I bring it to my lips and start drinking it down fast. All I can feel is the sting of vodka as it rushes through my throat, causing my eyes to water. Slamming the glass down on the table with a triumphant 'thump', the bar bursts into applause and cheer.

Heaving out a breath, I can feel Chris' warm, large hand land gently on my back. "Wow, I'm guessing you've had some practice with that?" He's giving me this charming smile and the contact of his hand against my shirt-god, if only I was shirtless right now-was enough to make heat rush downwards and a small blush cover my face. Good thing I'd just downed a whole glass of whatever the hell that was-_something_ mixed with vodka. I could ride it off as that.

"College," is my simple reply as I sit back a little. I can see the other men downing their drinks in a similar fashion, the stupid smiles on their face lighting up the room just like their laughter is.

"That's right; you graduated from a military academy." I don't have to look at the overly sexy man to hear the smirk in his words, "I didn't think they allowed alcoholic beverages on campus. I'd never pegged you as the rule breaking kind." Then he drops his voice and leans close to me and suddenly every nerve in my body is on fire, "I wonder what _other_ rules you've broken, soldier."

I can't move. Every last inch of my skin is burning and, despite the alcohol, I'm harder than I was back in the locker rooms. Slowly, I turn my gaze to Chris, seeing a devilish smirk growing across his face. Oh god, I'd love to see that face right before being rammed into by Chris in the no doubt dingy bathrooms of the bar. He'd just force me into a stall and turn me around, pulling everything off of me. I'd let him too, savoring the aggressive way he was handling me as well as the hot contact between or needy bodies. He'd just grab hold of my hips and-_wham!_-I'd have to bite back a scream of pleasure as he thrust into me again, that delicious smirk playing across his face as I look back at him.

Chris parts those lips, speaking softly, "So, you got any interesting stories, Mr. Rule Breaker?"

I blush several shades darker and hardly notice when another mug of whatever that was is placed in front of me, the empty one taken away. "I-I'm not telling you any of _those_ stories," well, that sounded more pitiful than I'd intended it to sound.

Patting my back, he sits back and gives me a suggestive smile, "I think I can find a few ways to get that information out of you." Oh _god_, it's just like role playing. He just needs a cop uniform-tear away with a stringy thong-and a pair of handcuffs to get the look right. The heat I'm feeling? Yah, that's not from the alcohol. "Want me to test some of them?" It's sexual foreplay without any of the touching or roaming. It's making me painfully hard just thinking up all of the images, just listening to the way his low voice reverberates every last bit of meaning. I'd jump him if it wasn't for the dozen or so other guys here to witness it. "Well?" Damn it, he could get me to confess to anything if he keeps talking like that.

I can only manage an incredibly weak and pathetic smile, "You sure as hell can try." My brain isn't functioning anymore because it's swimming with the delicious possibilities of Chris' threats. I'd let him just throw me onto the table and do me, I'd let him do me across the bar. I'd let that sexy beast do me anywhere in any position. I'm ready for him.

My imagination screeches to a halt when Chris gives a loud shout, "Bring me 21 shots! This man is getting wasted!" The cheers of the men around me cause my stomach to drop. Chris is smiling that cheeky-sweet smile that he always wears, "What? What did you think I meant when I said I could make you?" If _only_ he knew…He gives me a wink and I turn my head away in shame. God, I'm such an idiot. No, more like a hopeless romantic. Once again, I curse my stupid, over reactive imagination for placing me into yet another awkward moment of realization. Boy, I'd thought my hormones were bad during high school, where I'd mentally been fucked by pretty much every football player, even that bastard Kale Parker. Once I got into college, I thought the worst of it was over, what with my whole swearing off love phase. Now, of course, I'd been proven painfully-these constant erections are _killing_ me-wrong. Stupid imagination…

Placed before me are 21 shot glasses stacked on top of each other. The men rise from their seats and gather around me like I'm blowing out the candles of a birthday cake. _God_, it _is_ like a repeat of my 21st birthday. "Do I have to?" I ask, meeting a chorus of booing and hissing. I take that as a 'hell yes, you have too'. Well, so much for trying to avoid getting too wasted. Giving a small prayer to the heavens that I don't say anything I'll regret, I take the first shot glass and go. Throwing back each drink, one by one, and already I'm feeling the intense warmth of the alcohol working through my system. Even as I reach for the last couple of glasses, the world is starting to wobble just a little bit. As I take my final shot, I slam it on the table and the room erupts in cheers yet again. All the men around me are patting my back, calling for me to do it again, even some are giving me words of congratulations, though I can't figure out what those words are.

"Damn, Piers," I can barely make out from whom I think is Lexington, "You're a regular alcoholic." I'm pretty sure I gave a response, but I can't remember what. I don't think I even heard myself speak. The alcohol is catching up with me, _way_ too much Vodka for me, and on an empty stomach no less, and everything is starting to become blurry. That's actually how the majority of my time at the bar is, just a giant blur of drinks, cheers and karaoke-I actually got up there and sang a few songs. I don't remember the songs, I just remember stumbling around, most likely looking like an idiot, and the drunken cheering that followed my terrible rendition of what was probably a Lady Gaga song. Regardless of my inebriated state, though, it was the first time in a long while I'd had that much fun. I've never been much of a party boy after college, what with focusing on my job. Now, though, I felt like I was cutting loose for the first time since I'd graduated and it felt wonderful. And even if all of the other faces are a blur, Chris' isn't. I can see that smile on his lips; see the happiness in his eyes. Every bit of him is enjoying the afternoon and evening as much as I am, and for some reason that makes my heart swell-and something else too. But, like all good times, it comes to an end.

The men are ready to go home and so am I. I'm exhausted and feeling sick-remembering I have to wake up early tomorrow and go to work makes me feel even sicker. I stumble into Chris' car, feeling nauseous as I direct him to my apartment, which is on the other side of the city. It feels like the drive takes forever, but I'm grateful that he's got some kind of annoying noise playing in the background so there's no awkward silences I need to fill with specific confessions. "Is this it?" I sense him asking more than hearing him say. I give a weak nod and what I assume is a yes-or at least, it was supposed to be a yes-and he pulls into the nearest parking spot and helps me out of the car. I walk-trip over myself-to the apartment door, all while Chris secures an arm around me. It just feels so damn good to have that strong body right next to mine. Vivid images pop into my head, ones that I remember with far more clarity than my adventure up the apartment building's stairs. He follows me inside my apartment, proceeds to take off his clothes in a very enticing manner and then drags me to my bed and does me on top of it, hammering into me as I bite down on the bed sheets to keep from disturbing my neighbors. When he brings me to my finish, he gets me worked up again, abusing my body over and over until we've both passed out on top of each other, sweaty and sticky. I'm pretty sure I've got an erection, even though I can't honestly feel it through my drunken haze. Chris continues walking, which comes to a sudden stop, pulling me to a vicious halt. I give a groggy look at him, and then at the door in front of me. The dancing squiggles are most likely my apartment number, so I fish through my pockets to get the keys.

Except they're not there.

"Sssshit," I slur out, surprisingly formed into an actual word rather than a noise that comes from my mouth. Where'd I put them? I'd had them on me that morning. I always double check to make sure I have my keys whenever I leave home. Hell, I've gotten into that habit at work.

At _work_.

Damn it. Chris tugged me off so fast, and I'd gotten so swept away in the moment of enthusiasm and Chris' hand holding mine that I'd left my keys at work. I'd even left my thermo mug too. Giving off a long sigh, I alert Chris to my present crisis. "What's wrong?" he asks.

"My keys," the cloud of alcohol covering my mind begins to vanish, "I left them at work…" I feel like a complete idiot, _again_. Once again my hopeless romanticism has caused me a great deal of trouble. I curse my unlucky stars for having been born as someone with such a sexual imagination. If I hadn't been so carried away, I wouldn't have forgotten them. There's a shift at my side and I glance over, seeing the forever attractive Chris standing there, moving to put his weight on his other leg. He looks really deep in concentration, like he's got something heavy on his mind. "What?" I manage.

"Why don't you just stay at my place tonight?" I probably went into cardiac arrest then, though I can't remember if I did because my thoughts were flying so fast I barely registered what he said. Hell, I probably would have fallen to the floor had it not been for him holding me upright. He couldn't be serious, right? He was joking. He didn't _really_ want me to stay at his place, did he? Maybe it was some kind of test, like an initiation or something. If I said yes, I was off the team or something crazy like that. That didn't sound right, though. That sounded too cloak and dagger for someone as genuine as Chris. So it was _indeed_ a joke. Right? That velvety voice comes through my ears, "Piers, are you alright? You're all tense now."

Shit. "I'm fine. Sorry. I'm just not feeling great."

He makes a nod like he understands and I find myself feeling awkwardly proud that I'd manage to lie to my captain in such a shocked and inebriated state. "All the more reason for you to stay at my place. It's closer than the base and it's no trouble." His smile melts my heart and causes me to finally surrender. Giving a weak motion, he helps me back down the stairs and into his car. Even as I sit down, the world swirling in lopsided circles around me, I can feel my ribs cracking from the assault my heart is giving them. There's no word powerful enough in the English language to describe the absolute terror and fascination going through my veins. Half of me is thinking, I should get drunk and forget my keys more often, the other half-the logical, not diluted in hormones and alcohol half-is thinking I'm about to die. Ever since I'd met him, I'd had less than kosher dreams about Chris every single night. If I so much as nodded off at his place, he'd know something was off with me. Then he'd figure out I was gay and _extremely_ interested in him and the whole ordeal would become _strange_. I didn't want things to be _strange_ between us. I liked our friendship/my romantic feelings are hidden from him relationship. It worked, it was simple and best of all, it wasn't _strange_.

Pulling out from the parking spot, he drives to the exit and gets on the highway. It's another couple of minutes of his crappy noise-now I recognize what it is soft rock music-and he takes an exit and navigates his way to a much nicer than mine apartment building. It standing, glowing in the orangy-yellow hue of the lamps around it and it looks magnificent. Chris parks and helps me up the stairs to his apartment. I _really_ hope he can't feel my heart pounding in my chest, because I can feel it throughout every inch of my body, especially as we reach the door and Chris pulls out the keys. He unlocks it and I find myself imagining the inside before I can see it. I'd always pictured it as messy and something akin to my father's workshop back home-the 'I know where everything is, so don't touch anything' mentality. As the door swings open, though, I find myself surprised that it isn't as bad as my daydreams have made it up to be. It's more lived in than messy, though it's clear he hadn't planned on bringing a drunk person home, what with his gym bag and running shoes flopped across from the doorway.

We go inside and I soak up as much as I can of my surroundings. The living room is directly connected to the kitchen, where a small bathroom sits. There are two doors to the left of the entrance, leading to two bedrooms. One, from what I can see from my position, has been converted into an office and is messy, though there are signs that it's trying to be clean. His bedroom is beside it, but I can't see much inside of it besides a laundry basket that's half full. Sitting down on the couch with Chris' help, I glance around, catching sight of pictures hanging on the wall. There are some sitting around, too, one in specific with several people standing in it, though there's a marked out face in that crowd of people. "Wow, this is homey." I state, looking at the large flat screen TV sitting several feet from the couch.

"You sound like you're surprised," Chris chuckles as he goes into the kitchen. He comes back momentarily with a bottle of cold water. Handing it to me, he gives me another one of his warm smiles, "Go ahead and drink up. Getting hydrated before you go to bed should help your hangover."

Taking it with a thank you, I sip on it quietly as Chris kicks off his shoes and flips on a reading lamp, turning off the overhead lights. It's a pleasant amount of light, not too bright and not too dark. I relax some into the couch, feeling the comfortable cushions calling my name-but I can't give into their demands. Giving a long sigh, I close my eyes and try to relax, especially a certain part of my body that's refusing to listen. I can hear him walking about, footsteps disappearing before reappearing. He takes a seat on the couch, causing it to sag some. His voice is quieter than usual, though still just as strong, "You feeling ok?"

"Yah, it helps not to be moving…" Actually, I'm still feeling like hell, partly because of the alcohol in my system and partly because I'm sitting inside of Chris Redfield's apartment. Keeping my eyes closed, less I send a surge of testosterone into my lower body again, I decide to change the subject, "I actually expected your apartment to be a mess."

There's a soft chuckle from beside me, "That's what everyone tells me. Especially my friend, Jill."

He'd mentioned her during my interview, she'd told him how to change his phone to the vibrate feature but he hadn't understood. I'd never met her, though I imagined her to be a strong, young woman if she could boss Chris around. "You two must be good friends," I'm surprised by my tone. Wait, am I actually feeling jealous of this Jill woman? God, I don't even know her but I'm starting to get that stupid feeling inside of me that I got with Conrad-not that that was _jealousy_…it was _definitely_ something different.

"We are, actually. She's over a lot and she's always commenting on how clean this place is compared to my apartment back in Raccoon City. She actually refused to come over to my place back in the day just because it was such a wreck…ah, the life of a young, busy yet carefree man. I always thought she was full of hot air, but looking back, my apartment probably should have been condemned by the city." There's a smile in his words, a fondness of those distant memories, and it all brings a small smile to my face as well. I'm finding myself less and less jealous of Jill the more he talks about her. She actually sounds wonderful, like someone I want to meet someday. "She mentions that about my desk, too," he continues, "In STARS, she had the misfortune of having a desk behind mine, so my crap was always invading her space. She'd get so mad about it, too. One time she bagged it all before I got to work and hid it in the department building." I smirk, giving a laugh, "Now, though, my desk is pristine and she's always talking about how she's so glad I figured out how to use a trash can properly."

"She likes to give you a hard time, huh?"

He shifts, leaning back, "Don't think for a second that I don't give her a tough time in return. We've become quite ornery, the two of us. It's a wonder we're still allow to work together."

"I'd like to meet her," I mention offhandedly, realizing it sounds a bit stalker-ish to be wanting to meet Chris' friends.

"Well," he states, "She works for the BSAA, so someday I'll introduce you to her." There's a smirk in his tone as he speaks again, "Maybe you'll both fall head over heels in love with each other and get married."

I can't help but laugh-mostly due to the alcohol, "I don't think that'll happen, Chris."

I can feel his body shifting, his voice telling me he's facing me now, "Never say never. Jill's a great woman and one hell of a lover, you two will get along great, I can just tell." Wait. Has he slept with her?

"Just, _trust_ me when I say that'll never happen," I'm smirking and, though my eyes are still closed, I can tell he's getting curious. I should have just kept my trap shut and just been like, 'I guess I'll know when I meet her' or something like that. I knew getting myself drunk was a bad idea…

Chris scoots a little closer, "Really? And why's that, Piers? Are you already smitten with someone else?"

Before I can stop myself, I reply, "Actually yes." Mentally, I slap myself. Physically, my limbs feel like lead so I can't slap myself.

"Really? Who is she?"

My brain is finally registering what's going on here. I purse my lips together, not allowing a single syllable to leave my tongue. Concocting an excuse, I finally answer, "It's none of your business."

"Come on, I won't tell. I promise."

"It's none of your business, Chris."

"You really think that excuse will keep me from prying? I've got a little sister, remember?"

I'd roll my eyes if they weren't still closed and it'd cause my world to twirl in circles. "Really, you don't need to know."

"Please?" God, if only he'd ask me for sex with a tone like that. Hell, if only he'd just _ask_ me for _sex_.

"I said no."

"Why?"

"Because,"

"Because why?"

God, this is irritating, especially when I'm drunk. It's hard to keep up with all of the fast paced responses, "Because you wouldn't know him."

"Wait, him?"

I freeze. Fuck. Double fuck. No, scratch that, triple fuck. There's a _long_ silence, one that squishes itself awkwardly between us. I'm suddenly very hot and I want nothing more than to start walking home. Hell, I'd sleep outside if it got me away from this incredibly awkward situation. Chris speaks up after another minute of deafening quiet, "Did you just say 'him'?"

No lie comes to me, no cleaver use of words that would make sense, especially when he's already caught the mistake himself. There's no witty come back either, nothing I can throw at him that'll make him laugh it off, even though I'd give up anything for something as convenient as that. I realize now that getting drunk was the worst mistake I've ever made, and my subconscious is having a 'told you so' moment. Now my well-kept secret, one that I've hidden from every friend and family member since its discovery, has been revealed, and not to my parents or close friends, but to the very man it affects the most. Sucking in a deep breath, I respond, "Yes."

"That's why you don't want to talk about it," he states quietly. God, he's absolutely disgusted by me, isn't he. He's probably fearing for his life right now, what with a gay man inside his apartment. He probably thinks I'll jump him and force him to have sex with me, that I'll make him gay too. Hell, he's probably thinking every last bit of gay propaganda, believing that it's all coming true.

I can only muster a nod then, my head spinning.

"I see," Chris states. There's more silence and suddenly I'm hit with the extreme desire to cry. Just to break down and express every feeling I've had about myself since I learned I was gay in 7th grade; about how much I hate myself for it and how much I want to change it. About the way I feel so trapped because of it, like I'm drowning in a pool of emotions that I can never express because of the fear of being found out. I just wanted to spill my guts on the floor and beg for him to forgive me, but just as the tears start to come, strong arms wrap around me, pulling me close to his chest. Those arms squeeze me tightly, Chris' chin coming to rest on my head. His powerful heartbeat reverberates in my ears as I begin to sob into his chest. His grip tightens and he begins to hum quietly.

Everything inside of me comes out not in words, but in tears. It didn't even bother me that I was crying in front of-more like all over-Chris, it just felt so damn good to finally cry about it. I hadn't so much as shed a tear for myself since my junior year of high school, after what Kale Parker did to me. I'd locked it inside and focused on moving past it all. Now, though, I was finally letting it all go. All the hate, all of the disappointment, all of the anxiety. Everything was flowing freely out of me, Chris' strong arms comforting me and letting me know that it was ok. for the first time in my life, it was ok to cry.

For what feels like an eternity, we hold this embrace, my tears coming to an end and leaving me with nothing but dry hiccups as I try to calm my nerves. He's still humming, rocking back and forth softly. It's comforting, very comforting, and finally I can bring myself to pull away and look at him. I wasn't sure what to expect from him-anger, anxiety or acceptance-but I didn't get my hopes up. Looking into those beautiful chocolate eyes tell me one thing, he doesn't care. "I'm sorry," I finally state, "It's the alcohol…" It's a lame excuse, but it makes me feel better to blame it on something other than the influx of hormones I'd just experienced.

"You don't have to apologize, Piers." Chris is still hugging me, arms wrapped around me, though significantly less tight than they'd been before. "There's nothing wrong with liking a man."

I scoff and give a sigh, "I just don't want you to feel awkward or anything…I know most people aren't exactly comfortable with homosexuality."

"Well, I'm not _most_ people. I'm perfectly fine with it. Love is love, and as long as you're not in love with a little boy, it's all good."

I can't help but smile at that, despite the disgusting mental image it brings me. "No, he's way past consenting age."

"Good, then there's no problem," that genuine, heart stealing smile crosses his face and it makes me feel better. He really doesn't care, does he? Hell, I could probably tell him my crush was on him and he wouldn't care-though I'm not ready to test that theory just yet. He releases the hug-I find myself just the slightest bit disappointed-and stands up. "Let me grab you some sheets for the couch, I like to sleep with it cold myself so you'll freeze to death if you don't have some blankets." He starts towards his room and I stand, stretching and feeling a million times better than I had walking in. Of course, crying has left me even more dehydrated than I'd started, but whatever. I walk over to his bedroom door, peaking inside as I rub the remaining tears from my eyes. Dark blue sheets are on the bed as well as dozens of pictures hanging from the wall. A small flat screen sits in the corner of his room, looking abandoned. I guess he doesn't watch TV in his bedroom all that much. He's digging through his closet, tossing out this and that, no sheets though. "Well, damn it."

"What?" I ask, surprising him.

He motions towards the closet, "I can't find my spare sheets…strange."

"Maybe a ghost is borrowing them." I smile, recalling what my mother would always insist whenever I'd lose something. It always seemed I'd lose my one of my soccer cleats and she'd always tell me that a ghost was probably using it. 'A ghost with one leg?' I'd ask, to which she'd reply with a witty, 'Maybe he's borrowing one of your sister's shoes, too'.

Chris gives me a similar reaction to what I'd give my mother back then, "Right, so why can't I find them if he's using them? Even if this 'ghost' is invisible, my sheet sure aren't."

"Maybe he's building a fort with them _outside_. Did you check?" This just earns a smile from Chris, who closes his closet and gives off a huff. He moves to sit on his bed, glancing around the room before dropping down to look under the bed. When he sits back up, he gives a shrug.

"I guess this means we'll have to reconsider our sleeping arrangements." Placing a big hand on his chin, he ponders for a second as I lean myself against the door frame. I almost miss it, the world tumbling viciously for a second. "Well, if you're comfortable with it, my bed is big enough, we could just sleep together."

Another moment of cardiac arrest. Did I just hear him right? I'd just admitted I liked a _guy_, wasn't he concerned about sleeping with me now? Forcing myself to _not_ imagine the multiple endings to this scenario, I just look over at him and ask, "Are you sure? I don't want to be a bother."

"Trust me, its fine. I've slept with tons of people-well, it's not how it sounds. You know what I mean." I'm not actually sure I know what it means, what with the idea of a Freudian slip and all. But I dismiss it-because maybe that means I can score-because otherwise I'll be sleeping on the couch without any blankets.

"I know what you mean," I lie, "I suppose that's fine, as long it's really alright with you." I've decided I'll just have to sleep lightly so I don't end up moaning his name in my sleep. Talk about an awkward way to wake up.

With a nod, he stands and begins digging through his closet again, pulling out a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. Both look larger than me, but I take them politely and head into the bathroom, quickly taking a shower and ridding myself of my desires and changing into the oversized clothes. Even though their too big for me, they still smell like him and I'm instantly put at ease. He smells so damn wonderful, it takes all of my willpower to avoid covering my face with this shirt and snorting it like a drug. He's already in bed when I walk in-he looks _shirtless_, too-and I feel extremely embarrassed as I crawl into the sheets. I keep my distance, staying as close to the edge as I possibly can without toppling over. Chris doesn't seem to notice my issues, he's working on paperwork he most likely pulled from his office.

Laying on my side, my back to him, I become encompassed with his scent. It's all around me, on the pillows, on the sheets, and I feel safe. My entire body relaxes into the comfy mattress, my eyes sliding shut as I snuggle deeper into the pillows. I can sense the lights being turned off some time later, my mind halfway into dreaming when it happens. There's some movement, Chris getting comfortable no doubt, and then something warm against my cheek. It's quick and discreet, but none the less, it's there. Then warmth spreads all around my body as my brain begins to trail off.

Did he just kiss my cheek? It's the last thought I have before falling into my dreams.

There's a buzzing noise that brings me to my senses in the early hours of the next morning. I try to use my mind to shut it up, but it doesn't work. Damn it, I wish I was a Jedi. Sucking in a deep breath, I snuggle into the warmth around me, willing myself to try and get some more sleep. Burrowing my face, I realize it doesn't feel like the pillow I'd been snuggling into. It's soft but rough, and it's extremely warm. My heart nearly stops. It's Chris' Chest.

My eyes fly open to be greeted by a wall of delicious flesh and a perked nipple. It's tempting me to wrap my lips around it, so I back up a little, only to find that I have very little room to move. Twisting my head, I can see his arms wrapped securely around me, pulling me close to his lean body. Suddenly, I'm hypersensitive of my surroundings and I realize with horror that one of Chris' legs is draped over me as well. Worse yet, I can feel even through the sweats, that he's not wearing any pants or underwear-it's poking right into my groin, after all. Had he kicked them off in the night? Was this normal for him? Wait, when had I gotten turned around? When had Chris snuggled this close to me?

I don't even notice my hangover as my heart beats rapidly against my ribs and my morning wood gets even straighter. Heat flushes my face as I try to wiggle my way free, that buzzing sound meeting my ears again. It must have met Chris' ears, too, because he starts to stir, pulling me closer to him before mumbling some sleepy words.

"Chris…?" On the one hand, I'm enjoying being this close to him-especially since he's naked; I wish I was naked right now-but on the other hand, it's incredibly embarrassing. I shift my arms, my fingers gently brushing against those rock-solid abs and my heart melts into a puddle as my member strains some more. God, that felt so good. Shaking off the desire to trace those abs with my fingertips, I move my hands onto his chest and push on him, "Chris. Wake up."

It's nearly impossible-but I'm somehow managing-to not let my hands roam as they touch his warm skin. It's so soft and silky, yet rough from his years of military-grade work. I can feel a scar scattering across his chest and I find myself unwillingly following it with my fingers, tracing its smoothed surface. Where'd he get this scar? Did someone try to kill him by stabbing him along the chest? I glide my fingers along the puffed flesh again, savoring the way it makes me feel. I'm actually _touching_ Chris. I can seriously die happy now, especially now that my hands are wandering along his body, my fingers finding their way to his abs and _finally_-God, I've wanted to do this since I met him-begin tracing the defined lines that exist there. My body is burning at the touch and I'm instantly craving more, no longer forcing myself to deny what I've wanted to do. Soon, it's not just the tips of my fingers, but my entire hand that's roaming over his chest, the friction between the two skins causing me to become dizzy. I've never felt anything so amazing in my life.

Building up the courage, I raise one hand to a perked nipple, gently and ever so lightly tracing around and over it. I watch his body rise and fall with each breath, watch my hands work their way over his incredibly attractive body, feel the way his heart beats in his chest, mine echoing in unison. It's in this single moment, for the first time in my life, I feel complete. Chris and I, together and united, and it feels wonderful...

"You look like you're enjoying yourself." Chris states coolly, and my gaze hesitantly looks up into his face. In that instant, I back away quickly, breaking through his limbed entrapment and falling off the bed and onto the carpeted floor, giving off a yelp as I hit my head against the night stand. The bed moves and Chris' head appears over the edge of the mattress, peering down at me and the heap of blankets on the floor. "Are you ok?" I can only manage a meek noise as I work to sit up, a blush covering my face the longer Chris watches me. Why is he watching me? Shouldn't he be freaked out that I was feeling him up? Rubbing the back of my head, I look at Chris before hearing that buzzing sound again. Chris disappears from his position and shifts across the bed, ducking down and clicking something before tumbling back over to my side. "Time to get up."

He states it so calmly, like he didn't just watch me feel him up and then scare me out of the bed. As he moves himself off the bed, I call out to him, "Wait." Already halfway off the bed, Chris stops and turns to look at me, an eyebrow raised and waiting for me to continue. My mind is suddenly blank as I try to think of what to say. I'm reminded of all of the cheesy romance movies I've watched, where the woman calls after the man after the big, dark secret has been revealed and she finds herself at a crossroads, admit to her feelings or let him walk away forever. But I can't bring myself to speak, I can't even form a single word in my mouth. I just sit there, gawking, and finally Chris turns around and sits on the mattress before me.

I don't even notice his nakedness as he speaks to me, "It's fine, Piers. You're going to be fine." With that, he gets up, stretches, and walks out of the room. Seconds later, I hear the bathroom door closing and the shower turning on. Even though I will myself to stand up, I can't. I'm stuck there for several minutes, my mind examining the words Chris left me with. It's fine, you're going to be fine…

Does he know?

Finally, I stand up and correct the sheets, tucking them back under the mattress and fluffing them out to rid the top of any wrinkles. I then walk over to my little pile of clothing, glancing down at them. Even from my standing position, I can smell the alcohol on them. It's a distinct 'bar smell', hardly attractive. Looking at myself, I'm reminded of whose clothes I'm wearing and I'm suddenly very warm inside. They still smell like him.

The shower water turns off and moments later Chris walks out with a towel around his waist. I guess he figures it's not exactly common decency to let your junk hang loose-not that I'd _mind_ the show. "Oh, you made my bed," the sexy man comments as he walks into his room, smiling from the bed to me. "Thanks." I try not to stare at the moist skin that's Chris' chest. I just want to go and lick off the beads of water, just touch him again and feel that electricity. Hell, what I really wanted was for him to drag me into the shower and 'punish' me for my inappropriate act earlier. God, the images are causing me to get hard again, so I quickly shake them from my mind. I drop down and pick up my clothes, hating the smell and hating the idea of changing out of something that smells so wonderfully like Chris. Before I can exit the room, Chris speaks up, "Hey, why don't you borrow some of my clothes?"

As much as I want to say yes, there's a problem, "Thanks Chris, but we're not exactly the same size." I gesture to myself, the loose clothing speaking for itself.

"I'm sure I've got something from when I was younger, something that's closer to your size. Let me just look and see, ok?"

Giving off a sigh, I just smile and nod, putting my clothes down as I sit on the bed and watch him dig through his closet once more. It's a good view, let me just say, his bare back and that towel wrapped tightly around his waist emphasizes that gorgeous ass of his. Not to mention his legs. He's not looking for long before his phone starts ringing and he glares over at it. I watch him take a few steps, grabbing it from the night stand and clicking the answer key. "This is Chris Redfield." After hearing whoever it was on the other side, he motions a 'one minute' signal at me and leaves the room. Before closing the door, he waves for me to continue looking myself. With a solid click, he's out of the room and I'm left alone.

Standing, I go to the closet doors and begin my search. Like I'm supposed to know where he keeps his old clothes. The clothes on the hanger are his nice stuff, while the short shelves below are the things I see him wear to work, things like jeans and t-shirts, easy to tear off when getting changed into fatigues-or getting ready for _sex_, just saying. His shoes sit under that, though there aren't very many pairs. I push aside a row of dress shirts to reveal the further reaches of the shelf, as well as something _very_ interesting.

The sheets Chris had been looking for. They're in plain sight should he pull back his dress shirts. Is he really that blind or is it something else? Digging back there a little more, I find a couple of small boxes, which I yank out. Written on top of them are the words 'old clothes'. Smirking, I put the box on the bed and open it up and, sure enough, its clothes. Lifting a shirt gently, I open it up to reveal a dated design, but it that far more likely to be my size. I press it to my nose, breathing in deeply. Yup, it still smells like Chris even after being boxed away for god knows how many years. Smiling into it, I put it aside and continue to dig through the cardboard box, pulling out whatever I can find that doesn't look _too_ old. Finally piecing together an ensemble of a jacket with some band's name on it and a pair of acid wash jeans, I put it on and look at myself in the mirror attached to the interior of the closet door. I'm surprised at how closely they fit me. Was he my age when he wore these clothes? Glancing back into the closet, I'm thinking about the sheets again. They were so easy to see, why hadn't he noticed them? I refused to let my heart think he'd done it on purpose, just to get us to sleep together, but logically, I couldn't find an answer. They were _right there_.

Shaking my head, I pack the box back up and put it away, closing the closet door. I glance around the room, spotting a dresser on the far side. If all of his clothes are in the closet, what could possibly be in there? Blushing as I step closer to it-because, _honestly_, what is it men keep in dresser drawers?-I slowly pull a drawer open to reveal several pairs of boxers and briefs, all different colors. My blushing only increases as I venture a hand down to take hold of a pair, lifting it up to full view. I've never felt so perverted in my life-I'm actually doing something akin to a panty raid. I look the pair over, their dark blue hue contrasting to the white walls as I hold them up for a better look. I run a hand over them, my imagination kicking into overdrive as I picture his long, thick member to be there, throbbing with each of my gentle touches. I'd work him slowly, massaging him sensually until he's moaning and writhing under my touch, whimpering out a weak plea. I'd finally comply, pulling down the elastic hem and wrapping my mouth around his tip, sliding my mouth down as far as I can, my own member growing harder with each delicious moan that exits his lungs. God, if only he was wearing them right now.

I stop myself from imagining further, not wanting a repeat of what Chris witnessed in the locker room after my first run through the simulator. Putting the underwear down, I shut the drawer and move on to the next one. There are socks in this one, as well as scarfs-though there aren't many of them. Chris never struck me as a scarf person, so I'm curious as to why he's got some stashed away in his sock drawer. Maybe his sister gave them to him and he's too much of a nice guy to just get rid of them. That sounds about right. Carefully, I lift one of the scarfs and examine it. It's a greyish brown box-weaved scarf, soft to the touch despite the coarse weaving material. I warp it around my neck, tying the ends together and tucking them away. I stand, closing the drawer, and once again pull the closet door open, looking into the mirror. Wearing it, I feel kind of cool and best of all, it smells like Chris. I've never thought of myself as a scarf person, but maybe I can make an exception. I should buy one sometime.

Or, _maybe_, I can just _take_ this one from Chris.

He wouldn't miss it. I've never seen him wear it. He'd never know it was gone. I could just _borrow_ it, he'd never notice. For the first time in my life, I felt _incredibly_ devious. I was actually going to steal something from Chris and take it for myself. I'd heard of boyfriends and girlfriends trading clothing items so, why couldn't I take one of Chris' things? It's a one sided romance, after all. I'm too busy smirking at myself in the mirror to realize that Chris has walked through the door, "Sorry about the phone call…"

I nearly jump out of my skin, "No, it's ok. Really." Shit, I'm still wearing his scarf.

He's looking at me, an eyebrow raised. "Checking yourself out in the mirror? Is that what young people do when they get dressed now? I just throw something on and hope it looks good." Stepping over to the dresser, he pulls open the underwear drawer and pulls out a pair, dropping his towel and pulling what _looks_ like the blue pair I'd handled not more than five minutes ago up and over his sweet ass and thick member. I can't _not_ watch, god it's like he's teasing me or something. He wastes no time walking over to the closet, me stepping out of his way. Chris grabs a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with a slightly repulsive saying on it. It takes him under a minute to get dressed, pulling on a pair of tennis shoes to complete his look. He does casual so well…

"I see you found my old clothes."

"Uh, yah."

"I remember wearing that jacket everywhere. It was my favorite band back then. Huh, I don't remember owning that scarf, though…" My heart pounds into my chest as he furrows his eyebrows at me, trying to jog the memory of where the scarf had come from.

I quickly think up a lie, "I…brought it with me." I give him a smile, "I was wearing it yesterday. Didn't you notice?"

He continues to look at me incredulously before shrugging and nodding, "I guess I didn't. huh, well it suits you, the scarf I mean."

Was Chris complimenting my clothing? I could have fainted from joy had he not started out the door, calling for me to follow. We hurry ourselves ready, getting into the car and grabbing a quick drive-thru breakfast along the way. We're at the base in no time flat, rushing into the locker room to see the men, most hung over. They're groggy and give us halfhearted waves as we enter. I hurry over to my locker, finding my keys and mug still sitting where they'd been left. Part of me is disappointed that I'll be sleeping at my empty apartment tonight but I force myself to accept it as it is. After all, I've got some of Chris' clothes I can sleep with to pretend that he's there.

Speaking of clothes, I start to undress, pulling everything off and getting my tactical gear on. I can hear Chris talking as we get ourselves ready, "Men, we're not going into the simulator today. I got a call from the boss man, we've got a possible incident in Indonesia. I want you suited up and ready in ten minutes." It doesn't take me long to Velcro the last bit of my Kevlar on. I tuck the clothes safely away in the locker, save one item, and close it with a small click. Taking the ends of the scarf, I wrap it around my neck and tie off the ends, tucking them under the loops. I can smell Chris' scent encompass me and I give a soft smile to myself.

"Piers," I hear Chris call, "You're wearing that scarf onto the field?"

"It's like you said, Chris." I smile as I walk over to him, "It suits me." We waste no time mobilizing, everyone boarding the military plane and taking their respective seats. I sit next to Chris, who throws a quick smirk in my direction before calling to the pilot. The engines rev to life and the men strap themselves in. I can feel the nerves building inside of me. I've only trained with these men once, I've only encountered BOWs once. But, thinking back on everything, I realize that Chris is right. I'm going to be fine.


End file.
